The Grim, Dark Future
by Chris Stork
Summary: We cannot live through this. Mankind cannot live through this. If they are truly without number then our race is doomed to a violent death before every shred of our civilization is scoured away by a force more voracious than the fires of hell themselves!
1. Warrior Saint

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Aloreux IV  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217 M45  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Warrior-Saint  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 100000003487862/57920754527.7890  
*Thought For The Day: Cruelty is the Compassion of the Wise

* * *

Brother-Sergeant Michael cut through the foliage, his chainsword nearly clogged and dark red power-armour stained and the Great Seal of the Hellsing Order almost obscured by the sickly yellow of the battered plants. The landscape was a twisted nightmare, filled with horrible, pestilent overgrowths of warp-tainted 'life' Michael did not want to contemplate. The air was nothing but rot and decay; the ground was covered in a sickly greenish pus. Still seeking any sign of his Brothers and Sisters he snapped left and right; no sound, no trace. The assault had scattered badly. He raced over the foetid hills; towards the target, a ruined Imperial city, straining to heard any sound.

He stopped; a sound, _there_! He barreled through the hellish brush bearing down on the noise. Louder and louder it grew, he could pick out the clash of metal, the shriek of claws on armour. The warp-spawned copses terminated abruptly and Micheal beheld the battle. Three Sisters and two of his Brothers fought desperately, hacking and shooting where they could, against the tide of twisted and deformed creatures that dripped with pale ichors. The daemons advanced, slashed with plague-tipped claws and bit with broken fangs, in moments his brethren would be lost.

Michael screamed, drew his bolt-pistol and charged into the melee. The first daemon barely had time turn its head before Michael bought his sword across, sending its head arcing skyward. The second he shot blasting viscera in all directions, it came on regardless. They fell back, momentarily confused by the new attacker.

"OPEN FIRE!", Micheal yelled as he ducked under the daemon's swing. Bolter shell ripped into the plague-bearers, 'blood' and gore splattered the vegetation. Shrieking the shambled forward. "Secondary flank!" He raced out drawing the creatures attention while his brother and sisters got into position. A quarter of the daemons followed, Micheal sliced out, cutting limbs and tearing their pustular forms. "Attack!", his Brothers and Sisters surged forward, cutting into the rotting creatures. Ground between the three the daemons staggered back, hacking and spitting. They did not last long.

"Brother-Sergeant", Michael heard as he pulled his sword, now completely clogged, from the carcass of a daemon. He turned and returned the salute. He could see them more clearly now. By their gilded heraldry they were Initiates in the Order of the Valourous Sword. Cultists never held command positions.

"Sister", he said, "Have you had contact with the rest of our brethren?"

She shook her head, "No Brother-Sergeant, you are the first."

Michael looked around, hoping for a Sign. They could not stay, and he didn't have the numbers to assault the Death Guard in the city.

"We must press onwards, we will find the main force."

"Yes Brother-Sergeant."

Michael set forth, seeking the rest of their Order and engaging the Arch-Enemy where they found them. He gathered what few that could be found, a few came within range of the vox, several he blundered into. By the time he broke through the tainted jungle, he had found a mere three dozen. The heavy weapons team had four heavy bolters and a plasma cannon, the rest were split between tactical weapons and assault, no power weapons.

It was the sounds of screeching and hollow bangs that caught Michael's attention. He ran forward over to the cresting hill and saw the target. Once this had been the thriving, industrial heart of the world, it was no more. The buildings were rotten and collapsed; each coated with corrupted, blasphemous sigils wrought from what looked to be human flesh and the Marks of the Ruinous Powers of Chaos were burned into the structures. The warped and twisted symbols threated to draw his mind in, but he turned away not willing to waste his effort for no purpose. Michael scanned the area, hoping to see any of the Order. He did not have to search far.

A brutal melee was being waged not a hundred metres from him. The sickly greens and yellows of the Death Guard blurred together, but could not obscure the deep reds and rich blues of the Hellsing Order. Even at that great distance he could determine their heraldry easily. The Agrios Chines, The Saint's Guard. She was near. They stood in a circle around a building, barring all entrance. The Traitors tried, pitifully, to force they way through, each time to be torn apart with lighting claws or smashed asunder with thunder hammers.

A shrieking cacophony to Michael's left pulled his attention away from the battle. Across the streets a tidal force of putrefied bodies, pestilent limbs, and bloated rot poured toward the unhallowed edifice. A plan flared to life. Not ideal but he had nothing better.

"Devastators, purge the filth!", he ordered the heavy weapons team, pointing to the wave of daemons, "Tactical, advance ten metres left and screen them, Assault team secondary flank from the right remain unseen, primary with me!"

The heavy weapons teams moved into position and began to rain holy fire upon the obscenities. The abominations shrieked and tried to turn, but there were to many to wheel about effectively. The assault team lined up behind Michael and readied their weapons as the secondary raced into position.

Michael surveyed his warriors, the terrain and the Enemy. He wanted to find more of the Order before the final assault, he wished to find any ranking officers, he hoped for some sign as to what was the best course. He would simply have to trust in the Saints and the Emporer.

"FOR THE LINE OF SAINTS!", he yelled, thrusting his sword at the Enemy and charged. He heard the echoing chant, hoping it was loud enough to attract all their attention. Some of the Traitors heard and turned from the battle to face the new assault. They shambled into a wavering line and waited, scythes and axes bobbing. Michael began the Litany of Purpose and Being.

"In the Name of the Immortal Emperor", he began, the warriors around him picked up the Litany.

"Blessed be His Name!"

They thundered down the hill, the chants echoing across the ruins.

"The Debased souls of the Traitor and the Heretic!"

"Cursed are their Names!"

Micheal kept an eye on the auspex, the secondary team was not advancing as quickly as he thought.

"Shall be banished into Eternal Damnation!"

"The Light of His Judgment shall prevail!"

They wouldn't hit in time, he would have to improvise.

"HALT! Open fire! Aim low!"

Slamming to a stop he fire his bolt-pistol at the legs of the Death Guard, he heard his Brothers and Sisters do the same. Catch off-guard they staggered backwards before they tried to counter-charge. By then the secondary had the time they needed. Sparks flew and metal shrieked as chain-sword bit into tainted armour. The line crumpled from the onslaught, but held. It would not do so for long

"Charge" Micheal ordered. Moments before they hit the traitors, Michael remembered to complete the Litany. "Amen."

Ground between the two-pronged assault the traitors were slaughtered, chain-blades broke open the battered armour and shredded corrupted flesh and bone with ease. The rest of the Traitors aware of a rear-attack scattered, trying to prolong the battle. Micheal ducked a swing and shot the Traitor in the face. He rushed the next one and knocked it to the ground where an Agrios Chines eviscerated it. He plowed forward, intent upon reaching The Saint.

Suddenly a fell keening shattered the air. The walls of rotted building tore outward and wave of charred daemons issued forth. Micheal crushed the 'face' of one as it ran to him. So madden by pain it made no attempt to dodge. He hacked and shot at the rest as he charged through. Unlike their brethren before these collapsed at the merest touch.

Michael broke through the melee, his footfalls heavy on the sludge that coated the ground. He _knew_ that the Saint was in the building, _knew_ that one of the Arch-Enemy captains was there. He was determined to aid in any way possible. Michael turned his shoulder and smashed through the wall. It was over.

Rythun had lost, his deformed armour was charred and pitted from Her Presence, his attacks wild and erratic. The Saint, clad in her death-black power armour adorned with skulls, advanced mercilessly. Her much smaller form easily forced Rythun back. Unable to match her strength he fell back and swung his scythe at her. Almost casually, she twisted around and brought the Eternus Odium upon Rythun's scythe, shattering it into a thousand thousand pieces. Her free hand ripped out the armour plating of his torso, and with a swinging blow smashed the ancient daemonhammer into his chest. He flew across the room, visibly denting the wall he impacted. She launched herself at him, the Eternus Odium raised to strike. Rythun pawed at something on his wrist moments before the death-blow, he spastically jabbed. She brought the daemonhammer down, and hit nothing. Rythun had completely vanished. She paused staring at the spot Rythun had been. Her righteous fury was palatable. The Saint pulled the Eternus Odium back and locked it into place on her back. She turned and faced Michael.

"Sergeant Michael, sweep the compound, kill all the Fallen and take any prisoners to the west courtyard."

"Yes, Beati."

Michael saluted and ran to execute Her Orders. The battle outside was finished, a few minor injuries suffered. Quickly he formed search team and though he scoured the ruins for the Traitors they had all fled by Rythun's warp-craft. Leaving only their deluded followers behind to face the justice they evaded.

He had the last of the prisoners dragged to the appointed courtyard. All told, one quarter of a hundred had surrendered rather than face their wrath. Clothed in rags and covered with filth and grime Micheal forced them to kneel in the dirt and slime and await their reckoning. As the still highest ranking officer he went forth to inform the Saint.

By the runes on the auspex she remained near that desecrated structure Rythun had been bested in, doubtlessly hunting for proof of where the coward had fled. He moved with casual speed through the ruins; able to trace Her path through them by the burned and blackened icons of the Ruinous Powers. The distance was covered quickly and he found himself before a great circle of the Agrios Chines with the Saint sitting in the center. One of his Brothers had fallen.

His armour was rent and torn and his blood seeped into the ground, his shield shattered and stained with daemonic ichors, his hammer splintered with the force he had dealt with his blows. His mind and soul and fought and fought, until his body could no longer support them. She held his head in her lap, breathing quiet words in a language of her youth on Holy Terra. She had removed both of their helmets. Michael knelt, honouring his fallen brother with quiet prayers and exultations before commending his soul to the Immortal Emperor.

"Sergeant Michael", he heard the Saint whisper.

He started, thinking that he hadn't been noticed. Regaining his composure, he delivered his report. After Michael had finished she moved her fist across her eyes, a gesture he had never seen her initiate before, locked her helmet into place and rose. At a command several of her guard followed behind, the rest stayed to watch over the fallen.

Michael waited a moment, to give a last farewell to his fallen Brother. As he recited the last valedictions he noticed a few drops of clear liquid on his face. He briefly wondered at to its nature, it wasn't sweat, before putting it out of mind. It was not important. With a final word, he turned and proceeded after the Saint.

The prisoners still remained on the earth, shivering with fear. Moving with terrible purpose the Saint drew her ceremonial bolter-pistol, cambered a single round and strode behind the column of the heretics. Leveling it at the back of the first's head she asked:

"Do you ask forgiveness for your crimes against the Imperium?"

The man, who looked like a fish with wide staring eyes and a gray pallor, took some moments to respond through his terror.

"Y-Y-Yes, I-", whatever he tried to say was cut off when the Saint pulled the trigger and his head exploded. Screams rose in the throats of the heretics. Now that they truly understood their fate. Even now, after all his years in the service of the Emperor, he still marveled at Her capacity for mercy. Offering these things absolution in death was not something he could do. He would have burned them alive and sent them to the hell they had so willfully bargained for.

Uncaring, the Saint reloaded, walked to the next, and asked again. A woman this time, stricken with a wasting plague, answered faster.

"Pleeeease don't killl mee...", the Saint quickly snapped her free arm down, dropping the woman to the ground and stunning her. Before the apostate could gather herself two of the Initiates dragged her off. Ready for the long, arduous task of reclaiming her soul for the Emporer. Her screams began some moments later. Michael hoped she did not die before his Brothers and Sisters were successful, as much he hated the deluded followers of Chaos, he did not wish their time wasted.

Unhurried and unconcerned by all around her, the Saint carried on with her work. As the numbers thinned, Michael sent the unneeded guards to search the ruins for any marks and traces of where the Traitors could have fled to. He turned back and watched the last of the Emperor's Justice be dispensed.

* * *

Author's Notes:

To those wondering where Alucard is, he will be in towards the end with artificer armor and a two-handed chain-weapon.

Note on Languages: As English is currently a dead language in the story certain conventions are in place. Low Gothic, the common language of the galaxy, is represented as English. Latin is used to represent High Gothic, the language Low Gothic descended from. Greek is used to represent older languages, usually Modern English.


	2. Martyr Saint

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Aloreux IV  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Martyr-Saint  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 100000003487862/57920754527.7890  
*Thought For The Day: Life is a Prison, Death its Release

* * *

The city screamed. Everywhere inflections of the warp, taint, and worse grew. Like cancerous rot it was devoured this once glorious city. Lydwida pulled her robe closer as her body ached in sympathy. The minds of the others, the newly landed soldiers and augmented warriors in the first wave, were laced with disgust and revulsion. Her mind cried with them. She watched as the body of an Agrios Chines was carried onto the lander for burial onboard _The Song of Hate,_ and her soul screamed out.

His eyes, they were peaceful. She remembered when one had lost his helmet in a drill. The pain, the agony had driven them mad. Only She had been able to calm them. The Saint's Pain had left his eyes, in death he knew peace.

Lydwida turned and looked at the poor city. She had seen dozens places just like this. The causes changed names, but what remained was always the same. Khornate blood-drinkers, Tzeentchian soul-eaters, plague-zombies, it was always the same. The pain, that was to be her penance. She had caused the drop-ship to be five minutes late.

Leaning on her walking staff she limped into the city, dwarfed by the buildings that soared hundreds of meters into the sky, and crushed by everything that had happened in it. Millions and millions of people lived in this city, billions in this planet. None but the forces of Hellsing were here now. Tears flowed down her face. It was no concern to her, it was not the first time and it would not be the last. Soldiers marched by keeping a great distance from her. It was not her unnaturally thin appearance they feared. She was the worst thing a human could be. She was a pysker.

She could not move things. She was of no use in battle. She could not heal or inspire like the Saints. All she could do was feel the past, the thoughts and emotions that still lingered in the air, and here the air was filled with such things. She could feel the joy of a factory worker going home, and his terror as he was pulled down by plague-zombies and devoured. There a child skipped along playing with her friends. A moment later she was crying out for her mother as her skin melted off. A newer, clearer pain. The few unfortunates left in the city the Saint had granted Peace. Their pain had ended, they were with Him now. As she walked on more and more visions came. She trembled painfullyas they rushed through her, but she did not, could not, would not turn away.

It took the normal men half an hour to run through the city. The augmented soldiers took mere moments. For her it was three hours before she reached the Saint. Finding Her was not hard, She was a great beacon of light in the darkness.

She wore black armour, Lydwida had never seen it before. No mark or adornment graced it. Her helmet, fashioned in the shape of a fanged human skull, hung from her waist. Her head was wreathed in a halo of iron, five skulls of human and xenos were chained to her armour. Her hammer was locked on her back, the head of which was nearly as large as her. As Lydwida approached She turned to her.

Involuntarily, Lydwida trembled. Her eyes, Her eyes were filled with terrible agony. All the torments, all the horrors that she had seen and endured. They were nothing, nothing to Her Pain. _How many has She seen fall? How many died before Her?_ Lydwida thought. _How much had She seen only to be lost forever? _The Saint walked closer and Lydwida moved to kneel. Before she could finish the Saint grasped Lydwida by the shoulders to stop her.

"You are hurt," Her words were barely audible.

"I... I am still able, Beati."

She did not look at all convinced.

"You need rest... it will be difficult."

The Saint put her arm around her and led her to a bench. "You should not strain yourself, there are transports available."

"O-Others needed them more", Lydwida knew from experience that She did not approve of the penances that she and others undertook.

The Saint still did not look convinced.

"You will need some time to be ready."

"W-What is Your Will?"

"The traitors have escaped. Several teams are looking for any trace of where they have fled. There are four places that need to be searched."

Lydwida 'felt' four small nudges in the direction She wanted her to look. Lydwida cast out and after a moment found them. Four dark maelstroms of horrid emotion and polluted thoughts. Unlike the feelings in the city, these had a purpose. She felt cold.

"I-I see them."

"Escorts are at the first one. A transport will run you to it."

"I-I understand."

"Prepare yourself; it will be hard."

Lydwida nodded, and started focusing herself. The Saint helped her up and walked her over to an armoured car. "Be careful", she said as Lydwida stepped in. As the transport rumbled towards the site she thought of how selfish she had been when she took her penance-march through the city. Others had needed her elsewhere while she walked. She would think of another suitable punishment for her craven actions later. As she waited she constructed her defenses, stopping only when she felt the transport crawl to a stop.

"You're here," she heard from the driver.

Awkwardly stumbling out, she nearly fell until she managed to get her staff under her. Dragging herself along she saw the soldiers assigned to her and walked over to them. Ten in total, they carried equipment Lydwida assumed was needed. She recognized the vox-caster one of them carried, but nothing else.

"Lydwida?" one asked her. She nodded, still preparing herself. "Where to?"

"That way", Lydwida said pointing to the closest dark swirl of pain and fear.

"Move out! Cover by numbers!"

They moved out in a pattern that made no sense to her, but she presumed they knew what they were doing. Slowly inching along Lydwida summoned what little strength she had. The places were not far from each other, so the physical strain would not tax her. The mental and emotion strain would leave scars for years. It did not worry her, where She had suffered and even the Emperor bleed for humanity, she would gladly follow.

The buildings were corroded even worse here. Blackened and seared, as if by fire, they were twisted and mutated looking almost organic. Some should not even be able to stand. Lydwida could feel the unholy traces of daemons from their summonings. She did not wish to think about the number of people that had been butchered to allow such a massive breach in real-space.

She could see the first one clearer now. It was a small structure coated completely in strange runes and warding sigils. Even from a distance she could feel the miasma of it. It wasn't until they reached the closest side that her apprehension began to grow.

She stood before that building and trembled. It was not the endless pain and terror just beyond the door. It was the Mark on the threshold. It was not the symbol of the Rotting God Nurgle, the god the Death Guard supposedly venerated; but its antithesis, Tzeentch, the Ever-Changing God. Lydwida shivered as the reason _why_ it might be there tore through her mind. She reached out and pushed the warped door open. A short flash of fleeting and meaningless emotions skittered across her mental defenses as the portal swung wide. The inside stretched nearly a kilometre in width and length and over a hundred in height. Lydwida heard the soldiers mutter benedictions as the impossible dimensions unfolded.

No words could ever hope to convey the horrors in that chamber. Masses of men, women and children lay strewn upon the ground, mutated almost beyond recognition. Forms twisted into beasts and creatures unimaginable were piled in the center of that vast chamber. Some looked like they had grown and melted together. Dancing runes and sigils twitched all around.

Gathering her thoughts, Lydwida dove into the layers of warding for any slight piece of evidence of where Rythun had fled. Piece by piece she unwound each thread until that fell tapestry imploded. With no cage to hold back the emotions in that terrible place they exploded at her. She saw countless things, nearly sending her into shock. A mother watching her child mutate endlessly, an old man cut apart for some obscene ritual, a rotund man pleading for his life to a Fallen Astartes, on and on, millions upon millions of voices. Nothing, there was nothing of use to the Saint here. Letting go of the breath she wasn't aware of holding, she turned.

"T-There is nothing here."

The soldier in charge, Sergeant was the word?, nodded and ordered the others out. Lydwida limped out behind them, her mind filled with questions she did not want to answer.

Another door, another Mark. This one was the simple and brutal Mark of Khorne, Lord of Skulls. Lydwida could fell the insanity and blood-lust beyond. She reached out to push open the door, bracing herself for the mental whiplash. Pain, hatred, and rage careened against her mind. The simple and brutal assault cracked her defenses; but they held.

No runes, no sigils, and no wards adorned the walls of that vast altar-room. Carnage was the only thing Khorne demanded of his followers, and carnage was all the described that chamber. Bodies were piled everywhere, limbs and organs thrown throughout. As if some unholy thing had torn and shredded those poor people. Lydwida gathered herself to dive through the pain once more.

Something moved. She snapped around; but nothing was there.

_No, it's just my mind, that's all_.

Pushing her thoughts away she descended, searching through the agony. Faces screamed by, terror and madness gripping those poor souls tightly as their bodies were destroyed. She almost was ready to stop when a face flashed by. The man from the first chamber, the pleading one, wounds and bloodlust twisting his features. His efforts to save his life had clearly failed, delivered from one cruel fate to another.

She drew back. Only two left, she had to bring something to Her. Too much depended on it. They headed for the next site. Lydwida could smell it long before see could the door and knew what Mark was branded there. It did not make her feel any better.

The Mark of Plague-God Nurgle was lazily drawn into the rot, rust and other filth that was its sacrifice-vault. Lydwida reached out and pushed open the door. Despair, helplessness and dysphoria crashed into her defenses. The assault was so swift and merciless that she nearly collapsed. Spasms wracked her body, almost throwing her to the floor. Lydwida rallied her minuscule reserves and pushed back against the tide, unconsciously reciting prayers. Moments, minutes, hours went by, she could not tell the time of her struggle. Slowly, so slowly she pushed the flood back. Exhausted from the effort, she opened her eyes and vomited.

Millions upon millions bodies were flung about, all afflicted with hideous rot and decay. Skin and bone had been eaten away by gangrenous plagues. Corrupted organs, burst from the pus and gases, were exposed and strewn on the floor. The smell was beyond description. The few faces that had not putrefied were locked in expressions of utter terror. The images would forever be burned into Lydwida's mind.

Slowly the spasms ceased and she tried to push herself up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw shadows shift, eyes blink out a second too slow. They were being watched. It would not be long before they decided to do more than watch.

The sergeant knelt down beside her and handed Lydwida her staff. With a surge Lydwida pushed herself closer to her face.

"We are being followed."

Surprised, her head jerked around, scanning the area.

"No,not here" Lydwida said, tapping the ground for emphasis "in the shadows."

The sergeant tilted her head, but said nothing. Lydwida gathered herself up and began limping into the chamber. She heard the soldiers recite orders and codes, but none of it meant anything to her. She turned her whole attention to the task before her. It would not be easy.

She closed her eyes, so she would not see the people lying there. It helped a little. She took a moment to steady herself, and then stepped inside.

The last moments of those poor people played out before her eyes. Mothers and fathers watching their children rot away in front of their eyes. Flies and vermin covered them. Their cries for mercy, unanswered. Sobs overtook Lydwida as she shared their suffering. One dissent emotion attached her attention, joy.

She knew that only maddened forces of Chaos could find happiness in this plague crypt. She moved closer, and saw two beings. One, a towering figure in power armour, dripping pus and slime, with terrible Marks and obscene runes adorning it. She had never seen him, but Lydwida knew it to be Rythun. The other she had seen. It was the man who had pleaded for his life in the first chamber. He had Fallen. She would waste no more tears for him, the man he once was was no more. She listened to them, picking out words; something about a cult...

She felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere - a trap! In an instant she was overwhelmed. Despair ripped her flesh off, plagues ate her organs, she was buried under a mountain of corpses, each reaching for and crushing her. She heard the plaintive wails for mercy that each poor soul in that room called out for. The Dead and the Damned paraded before her eyes, each more horrific than the last. She tried to pray, to scream her throat was filled with blood, she saw into the vast corpse pits of Nurgle.

Just as fast as it started, it ended. She was being dragged, with blurry vision she saw the doors pull away. She saw dark red forms surge around her. Thin red lights lanced out from all around and stabbed into that terrible place. She heard someone scream out and several small objects were thrown into it.

_I failed._

Whoever was dragging her dropped her and left to join the others, leaving Lydwida with her thoughts.

_I failed._

Heat washed over her and then all was quiet. After a moment she could hear the sergeant speak on the vox.

_I have failed. I have failed the Order. I have failed the Saint. I have failed the Emperor. I have failed __**everyone**__._ Tears clouded her eyes and spasms wrecked her frail body. She had failed completely and utterly. She was close to sobs when she felt a hand on shoulder.

"Are you alright?", it was the sergeant.

It seemed like a joke. She had learned nothing, done nothing and her wellbeing was being asked after?

A thought occurred to her, if they believed her unable to continue on then She would learn of her incompetence sooner. Lydwida nodded. More time, that's all she needed.

"She says she's alright", the sergeant reported into the vox. Then she turned away and pitched her voice lower, trying to keep Lydwida from hearing. "She looks like she went ten rounds with an Astartes, send a medicae team."

Lydwida ignored that and concentrated on standing up. Her left arm moved stiffly and her right leg would not move at all. It took several moments before she got her staff under her. She was spared further effort when two hands grabbed and picked her up.

"You need to eat more," he said.

"I-I am fine."

He didn't seem to accept that, but did not argue. Lydwida closed her eyes and began the slow process of rebuilding her shattered defenses and calming her racing heart. It was soon, too soon, that the footfalls stopped.

"Here," she heard the sergeant say.

Lydwida asked to be put down. She raised her head, hoping that the Mark that she knew was there was not. It was.

The Mark of Slaanesh.

Her hand trembling uncontrollably, she reached out to open the door. Her hand seized up with tremors just before she touched it. She thought of the Saint and all she had endured. Steading herself she tried once more. Her fingers had just grazed the metal surface when she was attacked.

A thousand poisonous feelings and alien thoughts shredded her mind, eviscerated her soul. The endless gibbering of uncountable souls in rapturous pain and ecstasy assailed her senses and overwhelmed her in their excesses. She stumbled back, screaming and clutching her head. The soldiers reached for her but she collapsed before they could reach her. Sobbing, she fervently prayed to Him for help.

A scratching noise brought her fractured attention upwards. Across the rune-covered walls and ceiling twisted, horrible forms clawed their way from between the spaces of light and shadow. The daemons set to guard this place sensed a soul to claim.

"CONTACT! CONTACT!"

"We're cut off!"

"SECTOR 45/A, IMMEDIATE SUPPORT REQUESTED!"

"Grenades!"

Screams and noise filled the air. Lydwida clasped her hands and prayed; it was all she could do. Cold resolve flowed through her. She would not survive this. The knowledge gave her little strength. Strength enough to do what wouldn't matter.

She gathered what small powers she had and threw them at the wards on the ritual-vault. Not caring what happened to her, she forced her way through, leaving pieces of herself behind. Sensations and feelings attacked her, but she ignored them all. She felt them lodge in her mind, leeching filth. She didn't care, she wouldn't live, so what was the point? She tore though the last moments of billions of lives looking for one person. She felt the daemon's presence claw at her mind, felt her mind crack, she didn't have much time.

There! She saw that deluded cultist speaking to Rythun. It was so hard to hear their words...Itasion, a word, a name, a place? It didn't matter. She whispered it endlessly. Hoping someone would hear. With tremendous effort she forced her eyes open, and saw her death.

The daemon lunged for her, sinuous limbs joining its boneless body in impossible angles, its twisted and warped 'face' held a look of impossible glee as his hand reached out, ready to devour her soul.

It never made it. It snapped back as flames engulfed it. A moment later a burning sword cleaved in two. Lydwida tried to look around, her neck move stiffly and her eyesight failing. Dark red and blue blurs and pink and violet shadows surged warred against each other, she didn't notice any of it.

Someone stood before her, a figure in shining golden battle armour. Images of eagles and votive icons chased with pure silver and inlaid with bright and perfect gemstones covered the armour. Lydwida titled her head back as far as the pain let her. As the figure tore through the shadows with speed and ferocity no human could hope to match, she saw her face. She had short, spiked blonde hair and burning red eyes, she could not have been twenty. All around her savior the walls, the daemons, the whole world burned.

Tired, broken and exhausted physically, mentally and spiritually Lydwida slumped over, whispering that word endlessly, hoping someone would hear. Itasion, Itasion... Itasion.......Itasion.

* * *

Background Information:

In 40K-land there are two closely related universes. The first is our universe, the second, frequently called 'the warp', is wholly influenced by emotions. In that realm there are multitudes of creatures that 'feed' off those feelings. Though there are innumerable powers, the four named in this work are the strongest. Note that nothing in the warp is either 'good' or 'evil', it merely _is_.

Khorne- God of Martial Prowess, Honor, Bloodlust and Rage

Tzeentch- God of Hope, Change, Deception and Treachery

Nurgle- God of Fatalism, Defiance, Despair and Stagnation

Slaneesh- God of Perfection, Desire, Perversion and Excess

Edited with the help of: LittleDragonOfTruth‏, Chiwizard, and dark-angel-rising


	3. Judge Saint

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Itasion  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Judge-Saint  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 1000000037614/573198478.7878  
*Thought For The Day: Eventually, The Slave Learns to Love the Lash

* * *

Itasion was a world in its last days. The seas had long since died from the industrial poisons pumped into them. The earth contained more heavy metals than carbon. The air was choked with carcinogens that the air scrubbers could barely keep below lethal levels.

Itasion was by no means unique.

In Hive City Primoius, Second Block-C among the rusted houses and worn down businesses a homeless man 'lived'. There were untold homeless, but only he regularly attended church. He was over seventy by his appearance, skin tanned and weather beaten, eyes clouded and unfocused, his joints were arthritic and he moved with a pronounced limp. He would wander all throughout the hive bumbling from place to place begging for food, pleading for money, listening and seeing.

As the lights began to cut off he slowly made his way back to his 'home', an abandoned manufactorium just above ground level. No one went there but him, there was no reason to. He rounded the last corner and sealed the door behind him. Away from the eyes of the world, he straightened. Eyes cleared, weakness vanished, and his limp gone he strode forward and peeled the flesh-mask from his face, revealing a powerful man in his mid-twenties. He was Contam Erum, Initiate of The Veiled Dagger, Seeker of The Hellsing Order, dedicated to the Four Saints and the God-Emperor of Mankind.

He marched passed the fallen machinery and debris to his alcove of effects. Unlocking and pushing the compartment open, he arranged the icons and statues for his own ceremony. He placed, lit the incense, knelt before the small statue of the God-Emperor and recited his prayers. The sermons of the filthy sinners of this world lacked piety.

"God is the Emperor and the Emperor is God. The Emperor is Salvation and the Light. Through His Will the Word is Spoken and the Righteous are uplifted. In His Name shall the Unclean, the Mutant and the Deviant be purged." He grasped the small knife and cut his arm, letting the blood drip into a small basin. "Blood is the coin of Life. The price paid and the price due. By the blood I am resolved."

Swiftly, he took out four more icons of virtue and placed them around the statue of the Emperor.

"In the Name of Courage I dedicate myself. Never shall I falter before the Enemy, always shall I remain vigilant. In the name of Wisdom I dedicate myself. The lies of the Enemy shall never blind my sight, ever will I see the Truth. In the name of Purity I dedicate myself, the temptations of the Enemy shall never turn me aside, always a loyal servant shall I be. In the name of Hatred I dedicate myself. Never shall the sin of mercy weaken me, never will I tire in the pursuit of the unholy."

Finished, but only for that day, he stood and strode over to his interrogation tools. He had taken an impure cultist several nights before. He professed innocence, they all did, and so far had not broken. He would open his secrets before Contam opened his veins.

He opened the old boxes and set out the blades, the saws, the twists of wire, and the acids. He finished when a small mechanical noise caught his attention. The message receiver. He snapped about and shoved aside the rubble hiding it. He plucked the oblong container out and touched the runes in the way he had been taught. The hololithic image flared to life and wrote out words. He rapidly committed them to memory. He started at one point.

The Saint Herself was coming.

* * *

Contam stood some distance from the star port landing pad. He had spent the last hours in feverish action. From what the message said She was chasing a cult from some cesspool of iniquity named Aloureux IV. Most of the people had cravenly surrendered rather than die fighting the Arch-Enemy. She had executed the last for their treason.

The breaking of his prisoner had become top priority. The location of the cult and the names of those involved should be what She required. He broke several blades, saws and nearly spent his supply of acids before learned all the cultist knew. Contam left him to bleed out.

A roar overhead. The transport was landing. He knelt, his mind going in circles. He spoke prayers and litanies, recalled the Names and the Deeds of the Founding Saints, The First War, anything to keep occupied. Another roar. The ship was leaving. He wobbled to his feet, lightheaded. He shuffled over to the side access walkways, the designated meeting place. He pushed through the crowds, his heart thundering in his chest. He reached the door to the walkways and opened it, suddenly aware that he was alone. In the corridor he turned and knelt; adorned in black, She was there.

"Holiness", he whispered, barely able to get the words out.

* * *

_My name is **Seras**_, she thought, _I've said it a million times, no one listens to me anymore. I'm tired of trying. My head hurts. _She gestured for him to get up.

"I have found the location of the cult you seek."

"Good, show me where", Seras paused. If she didn't spout off some meaningless nonsense he might get upset and think he did something wrong. Usually they started hurting themselves then.

"The light of faith illuminates the darkness." She never needed to memorize anything. She stopped trying thousands of years ago. She could make up anything and they'd think it important. He looked overjoyed and speed off. She followed close behind, her dark cloak billowing out.

As they pushed through the crowds, Seras listened to the conversations. She needed practice in Low Gothic. She could pick out most words, figured a few more out, but some still eluded her. The words told the same story though, misery. Broken and beaten down, the people of this city trudged on, every movement agony. She was sympathetic to it. The memory of when things were perfect, when Pip was still with her still lingered on. She remembered how and who ended it all. She would make them _pay _for it.

Abruptly a commotion broke out. Someone was screaming about something. He was speaking so fast Seras couldn't pick out the words. They moved slower now, people were congregating around him now. A long pause in the shouting ended with: "What would the Emperor think?"

_He'd have a stroke. He threw people in jail for calling him a god. Everything's a joke._

At a snail's pace Seras and Contam walked through. He was clearly agitated by the delay. Suddenly he moved away from the main thoroughfares and into an alleyway. It was narrower, but empty. They resumed a quick pace, darting over the trash and refuse. A small noise caught Seras's attention. A little girl, no more than five was strewn over the floor. She looked terrible. Even without medical training Seras knew she had hours to live. As she ran by, she reached out with the her powers and removed the diseases that were killing her.

_They're not holy powers, _Seras told herself, knowing all about the ridiculous stories surrounding her. _It just something I can do, that's all._

Suddenly Contam skidded to a halt and grasped something on the ground. Straining, he pushed away and a hole appeared. Wordlessly he slid into the opening. Seras watched as he climbed down. When he was far enough away, she jumped. The fall was only ten meters, it wouldn't hurt her. It was only after she landed she realized that he might take it to mean something else. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _Seras thought_, now he's probably thinks he's too slow and will hurt himself._

Contam landed with a thump and ran even faster than before. He didn't appear to be injured. She took off after him, keeping silent, slowly pushing her misery away. Corridor through corridor they ran. Contam led her though endless twists and turns, continually going down. Nearly two hours later, he slowed then stopped before a junction. He listened then turned to Seras.

"Guards", he whispered, "Three, I will eliminate them." Without pausing for an answer he swept off, adopting an arthritic gait and ambled down the intersection. Head down, he swayed and stumbled from wall to wall. The sound of footsteps approached.

"Maggie iz zat 'ou", he slurred.

"No gramps, its just us." Contam felt rough hands grab his cloak and pull him off his feet. "Now don't you worry none, we'll take _good_ care of you from now on", a malicious edge cut into his voice.

"'M just an old..", Contam's hands snapped out, blades drawn, cleanly slicing through the heretic's neck. With unreal speed he pushed the dead man aside and threw his secondary dagger into the skull of the other and slammed his primary under the third's chin and into his brain. All in the space of a single heartbeat. He reached out and grasped the second's dirty overalls and caught the first with his foot. He let all of them down gently.

Seras waited until there were only two heartbeats left and joined him.

"The way is clear, Holiness" Contam stated, kneeling.

Seras nodded and strode down the corridor, into the cultists' nest.

* * *

The torch-light was dim, more than enough for Seras's eyes. It looked like an old warehouse with scraps of metal strewn about. Weird symbols had been lazily drawn in the dirt and on the walls. There were four of them, all in gray robes. One stood away from the others, closer to the corridor she was coming from. He was muscular and covered in tattoos. Two men were circled around a woman, her face ashen. They were all thin, expect the one man who was fat and diseased. He looked like the leader.

Seras kept her hood drawn forward. The burly one didn't see her until she was close. He seemed unconcerned.

"Have you come to-", was as far as he got before Seras twisted his head on backwards, snapped his spine and threw the corpse away. The darkest parts of her nature were gone now, but her thirst for violence still persisted.

The others noticed her now, trying to react. They were slow and Seras was very fast. The fat one had both legs broken before he knew it, the thin man's hip was shattered before he could turn. The woman looked overjoyed.

"Thank the Emperor you came. I...", uncaring Seras grabbed her by the back of the neck and dragged her over to a wall. Ignoring her protests Seras asked:

"Where is Rythun?"

"I-I don't know who-", Seras slammed her head into the wall. Seras asked again. The woman gurgled, her skull cracked. Seras smashed her head into the wall again and again and again. She stopped when the woman died.

Calmly Seras walked over to the man with broken hip and asked her question again. He did not answer. Seras cast around, then picked up a metal bar. She asked one last time. No response. She hit his foot with all her strength, his shrieks echoed down the lonely sewers. She slowly worked her way up both legs. She stopped only at his lower torso, he was dead several minutes.

The fat lump had made no attempt to move. Seras picked up a torch, walked over, and asked once more. He babbled on about his 'gods' instead. With a thought she reached out, sensing the corruption rife within his body. His body was so diseased he would never feel anything she did to him, so she simply healed him. Only enough so that he could feel what had been done to him. His screams was long and agonized. Nausea, pain, and confusion racked him. Slowly his cries faded and were replaced by whimpers.

"Your gods are fake.", Seras stated, her tone merciless, "The little delusions in your head won't save you." She held the torch over his shattered legs and asked for the last time: "Where. Is. Rythun."

"You- You will _see. _On Oidera III Lord Rythun will Ascend. T-Then will-", he would never finish. Seras dropped the torch and watched him burn.

* * *

Author's Notes: As always, any and all comments, questions and inquiries are welcome.

Background Information:

Previous to his interment to the Golden Throne, a life-support system, the Emperor (he doesn't have any other name) was actively tossing people in jail for starting religions based on him. Since the Imperium's official religion is called "The Cult of the Savior Emperor" it's fair to say he failed utterly at that.

Emperor worship is split into two manners: veneration as the greatest human being to every have lived(principally the Space Marines) or worship as a deity(everyone else).

Currently he spends every moment of his time fighting all four Chaos Gods, directing the Astronomicon(a galactic navigation beacon), and sending out Living Saints to oppose the Chaos Gods' champions.


	4. The Calm

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop. Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: The Song of Hate  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: The Calm  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 5040001459247/4512689753.47836  
*Thought For The Day: Never Forget, Never Forgive

* * *

Seras watched Lydwida closely. Her breathing was slow and even. The machines quietly beeped and buzzed, keeping track of her vital signs, administering pain-killers, food or other things as necessary. The poor woman had barely survived her encounter with the daemons. Seras had taken away the worst of the damage, but she still needed rest. If she hadn't been sedated, Lydwida would be up trying to hurt herself again. She pushed herself too hard.

Seras carefully pulled the blankets over her, so she wouldn't get cold. Lydwida would need to rest for another few weeks before she recovered. She had whispered 'Itasion' for hours until the medics sedated her.

Seras quietly left the cold medicae section and went to discuss the battle-plans with Duran. Or more appropriately have strategy talked at her and agree with whatever he came up with. She swept by soldiers and functionaries, receiving and returning salutes. Seras was dressed in full battle gear. The sort of gesture a "saint" like her should make. Her headache started to throb. Despite her pain and disgust she kept her face straight. Any twitch, flutter or blink they'd take and find a thousand different meanings in. She hated having to act like this. She hated being this thing, this _object. _

Most of all she hated having to need it.

So many of them, clinging to hope, because she was there. They endured pain after pain, witnessed the most terrible of things. All because of her. If she was a 'saint' it meant that all of it was for a reason. That there was a grander purpose in life than madness and violence. Without that purpose they would die. So Seras let them call her saint, and hated every moment of it.

She walked out into the main corridor. It went on for kilometres, and was at least one hundred metres tall. There were people in it, non-military personnel going through their day. She hated this too. Having every lie she'd told thrown in her face. All along the walls were tapestries, murals and paintings 'illustrating the history of the Hellsing Order' from Abraham to now. Artisans had spend most of their lives painstakingly weaving painting and crafting them based on what she said. They were all wrong.

The ones at this end of the ship were the oldest, the ones about events before even she had been born. Thirty thousand years had faded the memories. She guessed the Hellsings looked right. The events were probably wrong. With Abraham's life she knew was wrong. She lied completely about it.

Next were the ones about when she was young. They were as accurate as she could remember. When they were not, it was because she lied about it. There were parts of her former life they did not need to know.

This one, one drawn about the fight against Millennium, always drew Seras's attention. It was the sum of all she had to lie about, omit, and hated. It was second only to another she hated the most. On the right it had Integra standing on a hill, wearing armour that never existed and wielding a glaive far too large for a human to lift. Below her were over a hundred men painted in exacting and loving detail. Seras was amused that everyone else considered them holy. She'd never had the heart to tell them. The left was a garble of darkness, fangs, appendages and Chaos symbols. It wasn't technically right, but now Seras understood more. Above both was a rendition of herself, in silver armour descending on wings of light.

After Millennium's defeat there were fewer murals. The Golden Age, The Fall. They were not as bad, there was little to lie about, little to know. The other events she wouldn't tell anyone else. Those memories were private.

She still had to walk by a few more before she got to the training grounds. The Unification, the Great Crusade, better days. Before she turned into the training grounds her eye caught a glimpse of the painting about _That Day_. Her a crystalline figure of silver and light, against a red daemon of blood and death.

_It_ was wrong.

She swept onto the balconies overlooking the area. Duran Fides, the commander of the Hellsing military, was there overseeing the training regimes of the officers. He was in full battle dress as well.

"Duran."

He turned and saluted. He had a face that may as well have been hacked from stone. Piercing eyes and sharp angles, he looked the same as he did when he joined two millennia ago.

"Your Holiness." Her migraine bounced at the words. "The psykers and Seekers have completed their inquisition on Aloerux IV. Purifiers Alexi and Xajeo had determined that Rythun has created a new type of undead. They believe that its capabilities would be comparable to a vampire."

_Vampires, after all this time_, Seras thought, but did not voice her amusement. "The troop strength: three thousand Legionaries, two thousand cultists, forty APCs and ten MBTs. They have concluded that Rythun was attempting to beseech the Ruinous Powers for deamonhood. We interrupted him, but he will try again."

He handed her a dataslate. Seras glanced at it briefly. The names concerned her the most. During the Great Crusade she had kept careful track of all the deeds and all the pain the members of the Legions went through. She would see all the traitors **dead**.

Duran continued on as she read, "Training of the officers goes well. Sergeant Michael preformed admirably during the time he was separated from his squad." Seras had meant to ask why he had the drops scatter deliberately. Apparently this was why. "I have sponsored his promotion to Lieutenant."

"Are you sure about this?" Seras asked. It was an old question.

"Yes, He has been strong in personal leadership in his squad. On Aloerux he demonstrated his ability to keep calm in trying situations."

He was avoiding the question. Both knew it.

"That wasn't what I was asking."

For a moment the warrior in him slipped away. He looked so old. His eyes unfocused, his thoughts elsewhere. He grasped a rail for support.

"Yes. I am sure."

Seras nodded, but said nothing.

Both watched the exercises below. Both thinking of other things.

Then the battle-plans were drawn.

* * *

Author's Notes: As always, any comments concerns or inquiries welcome.

Thus concludes the introductory arc for _The Grim, Dark Future_.

Welcome to Warhammer 40,000.

Welcome to a place worse than any hell imaginable.

Background Information: Seras was canonized as a Saint in the late years of M.31. She did not find out until mid-M.32, far too late to do anything about it. These events will be detailed later.

Ketch117- Integra is unfortunately dead at this point, she will be an active component of the 40K part of the story as the plot goes forward. In the Chaos Codex there is mention of 'Doombreed' the first of the Daemon Princes who "led armies that ravaged entire nations on Earth long ago". Make of it what you will.

Edited with the assistance of Enslavement-Thesis


	5. Planetstrike

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Oidera III  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Planetstrike  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 504000651968736/4942198.8512  
*Thought For The Day: Wisdom is the Beginning of Fear

* * *

Seras sat in the center of a drop pod, alone. She slumped forward, her daemon-hammer slung on her back, deep in thought. Her solid black armor reflected no light, gave no trace of her thoughts. The skulls, her reminders of all that was lost, adorning her armor were dull and cold.

A sharp movement, a dull clang, the pod had been launched.

The drops gave Seras a few moments of peace. Her memories, her pain, her hate, she had nothing else. A few moments to put on the mask of their 'saint' of war, hate, suffering or whatever else they decided she was.

The drops gave her time to think. Time to wonder who wouldn't survive. Time to count the names of the fallen. Time to remember when things were Right.

Twenty thousand metres.

Memories of the far past were especially painful to her. The perfect past, Pip still with her, the long hunt for vampires at an end, all the long suffering and strife at an end. Dancing on Cyeili, Pip's crystal flowers, simply being in his arms. The vast, endless expanse of the stars. The limitless possibilities.

Then it all ended.

Fifteen thousand metres.

The War.

Ten thousand metres.

Istvaan IV

Five thousand metres.

The Siege of the Imperial Palace

One thousand metres.

_That Day._

Impact.

She shot out of the drop-pod; her 'mask' affixed. Pus coated ground, dilapidated buildings off to the right, her target in front of her. It was clear, for the moment. She raced forward, the sounds of the other drop pods slamming down behind her. In moments an artillery barrage would hit the area, detonators in the pods would ensure there would be no trace left of their arrival.

She crashed into the facing wall, the frail metal gave way immediately. There was little light, more than enough for her. It was surprisingly intact, far moreso than what she expected from the rotting forces of Nurgle, only a few corroded boxes, effigies to Chaos carved into the walls and spilled artillery shells strewn on the floors. She was not alone. Seras took aim at the first of the things that crawled inside and fired.

The warped and hideously rotten things that oozed along the ground twisted around and shambled toward her. Seras drew her bolt-pistol and destroyed three before the assault team broke through and burned the rest. The support and tactical teams raced in next. She felt the jump pack team hit the roof. Everyone was in.

Wordlessly the teams moved, drilled and trained. Seras sprinted to the nearest lifts just ahead of the assault squad. She was used to hand-signals and didn't notice she was alone until she she opened the first one.

"Five in there", she pointed to the biggest lift, "Three in those" she said stabbing her finger at the auxiliaries "The rest wait for the lifts to come back."

Her Agrios Chines were needed elsewhere, Duran mentioned something about drawing the enemy out. It was the first time, ever, she had been without them.

They descended, the lift creaking and groaning from the sudden use. Slowly accelerating they slid down the shaft deep into the once factory. Floor after identical floor passed by without change until suddenly they broke through to the production level. It could have been a factory, with all the slime and rust it was hard to tell.

The bay extended out for hundreds of meters before them. The only exit lie on the far side of the expanse. They were hit with the foul and rotten odors emanating from the corrupt things slaving away down there.

For the moment they were still unseen. Raising her bolt- pistol Seras said, "Pick your targets", each raised their weapons, bolters and plasma guns all, and waited to come into range. The metallic screeching would keep the sounds of battle to this bay. Seras picked the 'foreman' and waited as he slowly inched forward…closer… closer.

"Now", the foreman's torso vanished , the shock had barely registered in the cultists before they were torn apart under the hail of fire. The rest had barely time to register it before the bolt-shells slammed into them, leaving behind nothing but a sticky haze of gore and bone. A few remained

"Go", Seras screamed and vaulted the final ten meters to the ground. She snapped her free hand behind her to unlock the Eternus Odium. She got one more shot off , slicing a cultist in half. She hit the ground hard, visibly warping the concrete floor. Seras pulled the massive daemon-hammer free and charged the nearest cultists. They managed a weak cry and shambled forward with whatever tools they had. Seras hefted the hammer and brought it crashing down on the leading cultist shattering his body sending blood and bone fragments flying in all directions, her hand shot out and smashed the next one's face in.

Behind her the assault team landed and charged. Terror overtook the cultists, a few threw down there weapons and pleaded surrender, most fought on futilely. They were all killed.

The lifts finally screeched to a halt. Seras picked up a piece of metal and lobbed it at the button. She turned on her arm-sensor. The whole compound was heavily flooded with the taint of the Warp, making it difficult to tell what was where. Still, she could detect no human life in the adjoining rooms, none further to the east, at least not on this floor. She still had five more to go down.

* * *

_Lieutenant, I am Brother-Lieutenant Michael now._

Breathing deeply he patrolled around the perimeter. The additional comms and auspex unit in his new helmet weighed a mere three grams. The difference between his old chainsword and the new powersword was negligible. It felt like all the stars in the sky were pressing down on him.

Jump team in place, heavy weapons set-up and pre-sighted. The scout team had been dropped some distance away. It would be some time before they were in position. He patrolled around, trying to effect a confidence he did not feel. The Cult given over to him to command, the Cult of the Silver Soul, he knew was among if not the best of the Order. He wanted to believe he deserved the honour of commanding them in the field of battle.

Idlely he watched the the tactical monitor. Blips ten kilometres out, the landing forces, five hundred strong. Closer, too close, blips slowly marching out to them. The Traitors, a Death Guard warband, at least twenty five hundred strong. Waiting, waiting, terrible waiting, that was all he could do right now.

Part of him wished to be with the Saint as she brought the Emperor's Justice to these vile heretics, or to be with his brothers and sisters on the beachhead. _Anything_ to not be waiting. This was a great honor though, Promoted to Lieutenant and given the mission of guarding the Saint's way and ensuring that She could complete Her Work undisturbed.

He would _**not**_ fail. He could not fail. He hoped he didn't fail. He prayed he wouldn't fail and embarrass the entire Order in front of the Emperor.

Waiting, waiting, and watching the battle begin on the read-out.

* * *

It was a wasteland. The planet's meager defences had tried to storm the plateau Rythun held. Shattered armour and broken bodies were all that remained of Oidera III's armies. They fought, and died, as valiantly as any servant of the Emperor. There was no sign of even an attempted retreat. They had done damage with their sacrifice. Scout teams reported ten Rhinos and one Predator among the wreckage. No sign of Fallen Marines.

The Commander raced around, yelling orders and given fire missions. Things were going as well as they normally did. Purifiers Garibaldi and Heinrich vanished without a trace. Half the armour was still waiting to be dropped _and _being chased by a grand cruiser with three destroyers. The drop-site was missed by about two kilometres and no-one could raise Lieutenant Micheal.

Come to think of it things were actually going better than they normally did.

"Tactical Armus and Support Easus advance left three hundred metres and lay down suppressive fire. Assault Sila and Droska take point. All others begin advance by numbers." The Agrios Chines knelt in the dirt, staring straight at the plateau. He didn't dare give them a move order. They obeyed only the Saint, only Her words kept them here and not flying into battle. Any command otherwise might send them rampaging to reach Her.

He looked to his auspex. Contacts marching out of the plateau. He had their attention, now to keep it. "Artillery: Range Five thousand metres, angle thirty degrees, full charge on my mark.... fire." Behind him the Whirlwinds fired, rockets arcing into the traitors. Blips scattered and broke up, seeking cover. When the salvo finished they started moving out again.

He could see no difference in the number marching.

* * *


	6. Contact

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop. Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Oidera III  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Contact  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 504000651968736/4942198.8512  
*Thought For The Day: Hope is the First Step on the Road to Disappointment

* * *

Senior Purifier Garibaldi and five of his storm-troopers stalked the ruins of the battlefield. The quiet hiss of the rebreathers was the only sound. The sniffers said that the air was clean, but Garibaldi had ordered internal reserves only. The forces of Chaos were resourceful and taking chances was never a good idea. They had enough air for a twelve-hour deployment, plenty of time.

Silently they advanced by the wrecked transports and shattered corpses. There were so many bodies, some in the uniform of the planet's PDF, some in aribites carapace. Some of the bodies had been partially eaten, others clearly drug off, their location unknown. They didn't have enough hawthorn stakes to ensure that the bodies left behind hadn't turned. Their silver knives were going to need resharpening after this.

The auspex bleeped. In an instant it was re-routed to Garibaldi's heads-up-display, three runes, no heart-beats, clustered around a Chimera fifty metres west of his position. _Maybe plague-ghouls, maybe these new vampires Alexi and Xajeo found._ _Only one way to know, _Garibaldi thought.

"Contact. Fifty metres. Three." Garibaldi said into the vox. They raised their weapons ready to fire. Their steps became perceptively more cautious. Forty, thirty metres. Garibaldi gave the sign to spread out. Twenty, tanks and parts of tanks still blocked the line of sight to the targets, ten. "Halt. Abzin, point, Kraly and Dao flank left, Lino and Euclea right."

They broke off to their positions. Abzin crept forward to the wreckage of a Chimera. She looked through a hole in the armour. Her hand shot out, two fingers than fist held out, one finger and dropped his hand. _Two plague-ghouls, one unknown, _Garibaldi thought, _and Abzin knows 'em all._

"In position" the vox chimed, "Ready" a moment later.

"Abzin, your call" Garibaldi said. Abzin was ready for promotion. She'd need the practice.

"Lino, Euclea take down the ghouls, Dao stake, Kraly hammer, I have trip. On my mark" Abzin ordered, her voice low. Garibaldi nodded in agreement. Kraly was very muscular, he best be able to put the stake through in one hit. Dao was fast and small, he could get into position fast. Trip was the most dangerous spot. Better to take the risk yourself, than someone else. Garibaldi shifted over to view the targets better. The two ghouls, bodies rotten and organs swinging from massive lacerations in their frames were stooped over the body of a fallen PDF soldier. He could heard the ripping and tearing of flesh from here. The vampire stumbling into view. It looked much like the ghouls only it was intact. Abscesses and lesions dotted the creature. A blue and gold uniform still hung from the vampire's body. It lurched forward toward the ghouls. Abzin unlocked a long hook and held it ready.

"Now!" she snapped and raced forward. Las-fire lanced out and decimated the ghouls. They tried to wheel about, but their bodies collapsed before they could. Dao and Kraly ran out, stake and hammer ready. Abzin slid the last two metres, catching the vampire just above the ankle. Its legs flew out and it hit the ground hard. Dao knelt, positioning the stake just above the heart. Kraly swung the mallet hard smashing the stake through the rib-cage. Nearly putting it through the vampire completely. It spasmed briefly, then lie still.

Abzin drew her pistol and held it under the vampire's chin, just in case. It did not move. She took out a silver aquila and placed it on its forehead.

"Spirit be at place. Amen"

Garibaldi took a moment to review the action. A good team, all around.

"Good work", he said, "let's keep moving". He expanded the auspex reading out. That ominous cloud of contacts was still drifting toward them. They wouldn't have much time to release all the Death Guard had turned.

* * *

Heinrich and his team strode forward, their storm-coats furling out and as they ran. He doffed his helmet valuing his vision higher than any protection it afforded. If it became necessary he had holy water and silver injectors. His cold eyes examined every speck, every iota of detail of the terrain. His lean face was dour, a perpetual frown twisting his mouth.

The target slide just out out of sight. The plague-vampire kept shuffling between the wreckage. He brought his stake crossbow up, aiming where it should amble out in moment. It plodded out into the open and Heinrich pulled the trigger. The stake lanced out and took it just below the shoulder, impaling its heart. The vampire spun and dropped, dead on impact.

"Secondary, advance left to the rocks. Primary with me." Garibaldi had the north, so he was not overly concerned about his right. He said a quiet prayer for the poor dead soldier and moved west. The rocks and dirt crunched under his boots. The auspex suddenly lit up as four contacts stumbled into range.

"Contact" the secondary team called out followed by the sound of las-fire.

"Primary take the right-most target, I have the center two" Heinrich ordered.

"Affirmative" he heard as more las-fire blasted out.

He darted forward, taking out his blessed aquila and readying another shot. As he turned around the remains of a tank the first vampire sprang. Without pause he shot in through the chest and it tumbled to the ground. A small hiss gave away the presence of the other. Heinrich snapped around the aquila held out. It was nearly at arm's reach when the holy symbol was jammed into its face. It jumped back shrieking as its eyes melted. He dropped the crossbow and drew his silver dagger. A quick jab and the vampire was dead once more.

"Status" Heinrich stated into the vox-link, collecting his equipment.

"Secondary: Contact silenced, no casualties."

"Primary: Contact down, still fighting, will silence momentarily, armour's scratched, no casualties."

"Good, Rally on me when finished. Secondary advance forty metres west-ward and watch for hostiles."

* * *

Captain Jun kept a close eye on the data-streams. He sat in the command throne, devotional scenes of gemstones inlaid with sliver and etched in gold surrounding him. Wires delicately ran to and from him. He was as much a part of the ship as the engines. The ship screamed around the planet in low orbit, just scraping the upper atmosphere. The larger grand cruiser and its escorts couldn't follow too closely without risking their orbit. He had signal scramblers and electronic decoys deployed every five minutes. Anything to maintain the Chaos fleet's attention on him and not on the ground forces.

And to keep them guessing.

"Lieutenant Elsa any word from the ground?"

"None sir."

"Mr. Andrews stress on the hull?"

"At forty-percent, sir, holding fast."

"Lieutenant Ige time to drop-site?"

"Nine minutes twenty seconds."

"Who hasn't launched yet?"

"Captain Jome, Captain Ya, and Captain Savva."

_Jome has infantry company, Ya the armor regiment, and Savva commands the scouts, _Jun thought, _most of the infantry is down, scouts shouldn't be needed._

_"_Prep Captain Ya for drop."

"Aye sir."

* * *

Seras waited calmly, staring at the projected display of the map. Studying routes to and from the command centre. Rythun would not get away this time. She'd brought along a chip that would keep the teleporter he had from working.

A screech brought her attention upwards. The lifts were moving downwards carrying the remainder of the assault squad. She motioned for them to jump the distance, hoping it was the correct signal. She turned to the great doors at the end of the bay. The steel doors were locked. Seras keyed the decoder function on her wrist computer. In moments the lock was defeated and slowly opened. Revealing five of the Death Guard.

Seras recognized them all, Iythai, Durih, Byiun, Xunai, and Uiyn. Xunai was cautious and always took a step back before firing, Durih and Iythai would draw chain-swords before committing. Byuin and Uiyn were brothers, both trained with ranged weapons.

She killed them first. Slamming the daemon-hammer down onto Uiyn's skull and firing her plasma pistol into Byuin's chest, both dropped without a sound. Durih and Iythai reached for their swords. Seras twisted around smashing the bell of the hammer into the back of Durih's head, sending him to the ground, she kicked out Iythai's leg and crushed his face with her left hand. Seras brought the daemon-hammer up for an overhead strike to execute Xunai. Dozens of bolter-shells tore into him first, he fell in pieces. Seras winced as the sounds echoed down the hall. Distantly she heard the alarms sound off. _And there goes surprise, _she thought bitterly.

She brought up the map again and sought a less direct route. _The maintenance corridor, quick enough and not likely to be heavily guarded._

"This way" she said, leading them down a westward passageway.

* * *

Michael started to patrol the perimeter. He would have preferred to spend the time in prayer. His new command dictated that he stand watch and inspire confidence in his warriors. He hoped none could tell how badly he was shaken by the position of command.

"Brother-Lieutenant" called a voice.

He turned, it was his Sister Elega in the tactical squad. She was peering through a small hole in the east wall, "Heretics approach. Six."

He looked at the auspex. Thirty metres away. He touched the rune on the vox-caster that would allow all the jump-pack squad to hear him.

"East wall, on my command attack. Target is approaching heretic squad" he whispered.

He watched the display. They approached slowly. He magnified the area, a larger return on the screen appeared. He waited.

Twenty metres.

Ten.

"Now!"

The bursts of fire burned the heretics to ash, but they still managed screams. _Idiot!_ _I should have waited for them to get inside_, he thought belatedly. It was too late now, his auspex caught flashes of movement. They knew about their presence and would be here soon.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Changed: Question in the Calm answered. Apologies for missing it the first time.


	7. Loss

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Oidera III  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Loss  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 504000651968736/4942198.8512  
*Thought For The Day: No-one Who Dies in His Name Dies in Vain

* * *

Return fire increased. The forward elements of the Death Guard were off the plateau and advancing. Sila and Droska hadn't engaged contacts or seen Garibaldi and Heinrich yet. The predators had run to the north to begin their long flanking maneuver and would be out of range for some time. The teams were slowly getting in place.

"Support Easus in position. Pre-sighting finished. Commencing fire mission."

A thin line of white-hot energy lanced out and one of the larger runes flared out. More streams of white impacted the advancing tide.

"Whirlwinds: Range six thousand metres. Arc: sixty-", a loud explosion cut him off. The enemy had gotten lucky, one of their lascannons struck the launcher on one of the Whirlwinds. As he watched the flames spread out rapidly. "OUT! OUT! Evacuate!"

The crew burst out of the doors moments before the ammunition cooked off. The back half of the Whirlwind tore open sending shrapnel flying out. The others were unaffected. "Fly! South-east five hundred metres!" he changed vox-channels to the advance squads, "Look out for infiltrators, maintain fire superiority."

* * *

"Did they see us?" Euclea asked.

A sudden torrent of fire blasted the shelter of the wreck they clustered around.

"Yes, yes they did." Garibaldi stated. He unclipped the locater beacon from his belt, activated it and tossed it in to the metal ruins. "This is as far as we go. Back up cleanly. Smoke." Kraly threw his down, the air filled with black haze. _It won't take them long to compensate. We'll make it quick. _

"Dao, Kraly, Abzin first. Take that position at that Leman and cover us as we fall back." He calmly ordered, "Eulcea, string det-charges." As the team complied Garibaldi fired blindly at the approaching horde.

"Set" Euclea said. Garibaldi motioned for her to go. He took one last glance at the auspex. _Five possibles. Five souls still waiting to be released. _Regretfully, he turned away. He would free them as soon as he could. Lino took a few last blind shots and ran with Garibaldi to the wreck. Sporadic fire pelted the ground, none sincerely aimed. They were almost there when a bolt-shell hit Lino in the shoulder. The explosion knocked him out and slammed him into the dirt, his arm flew off in a bloody arc. Without pause Garibaldi unclipped his hook and caught a plate in Lino's chest armour. Twisting around he crouched, leaning towards the tank, using his momentum to pull themselves into safety.

"Abzin lead the retreat." Garibaldi calmly said as pried off the plates near Lino's ruined shoulder.

"Right, Dao, help, Kraly that crater there, Euclea set a trap" she briskly ordered. Dao yanked out his med-kit and jerked out the contents, Kraly dove for the crater, Euclea chirped out an over-joyed response set to work. Abzin snatched another smoke grenade and threw it far away from where they were running. Small-arms fire immediately chased the cloud.

_She'll make a great Purifier._

* * *

Michael ducked as part of the wall exploded, the shrapnel pattered against his armour. Popping back up he shot a running cultist with his bolt-pistol.

"Location on the rocket team" he yelled out. A stream of negatives answered. _Where can it be? _"Assault prepare to jump." Without knowing where the heavy weapons were it would be dangerous, but the structure could only take so much before it collapsed. "Scouts position."

"Climbing, ETA five minutes."

More fire poured in, periodically the crump of a grenade could be heard. Michael risked a glance out. Through the rising dust and smoke he could see nothing. _How long can I wait?_

"More contacts. Light infantry, light weapons" another report came in. Michael brought up the auspex. A cloud of runes surged up from the east most building.

"Support chamber hellfire rounds, target far east structure."

"**Affirmative**!" A brief lull in firing then came the staccato banging of the acid rounds. Even over the mayhem he could heard the screaming as the cultists melted. A wave of lethargy overcame him. Dizziness threatened to drop him to his knees.

"_WITCH_!" Michael heard over the comm. Even though it was yelled out it seemed to be coming from a great distance.

"Target... the witch... all... units" he could barely get the words out. He hoped someone could hear. Suddenly the lassitude left and his strength returned. "Status."

"The witch is pinned, warpcraft is blocking fire, no causalities, ammo fine."

An explosion. Another part of the wall tore open. Instinctively Michael fired out into the breach. The cultist holding the tube launcher exploded and dropped his weapon. He fired at the tube, but another cultist dove on it and took the shell. A mob of rotting cultists piled onto the launcher to extract it. Michael shot at them, killing several, but they made it into cover with the heavy weapon.

_I cannot spare any fire from the sorcerer, and I cannot let them keep firing. What choice do I have? _Michael thought and he drew his powersword.

* * *

The corridors passed by quickly. The farther down they went the more warbled and broken the world became. Sucking maws grew into the walls. They might have been doors. Fleshy tubes hung from the ceiling. They twitched away from Seras, but she could hear the wet slaps and squishes from where her soldiers hit them. _Why don't they put whatever is in my armour in everyone else's?_ _It would_ _save them the trouble of cleaning it after times like this_. A small electrical click caught her ear.

She snapped her hand up for them to stay back. For her the four assault-cannons slowly inched out of the walls. Seras smashed the front two with a quick swing and with a quick stomp fouled the barrels on the third. The last was starting to cycle, it would open fire in a moment. It had no chance of hurting her. Seras readied her daemonhammer for an overhead strike with right hand and put left out to block the shots. Something slammed into her. As she fell Seras caught a brief glimpse of Kateri behind her. The assault cannon roared to life. Scrambling to get her feet she lunged at the weapon. Seras could heard the tearing of armour and flesh from behind her. The hammer careened down into the machine and broke it. She snapped about, throwing herself at the fallen woman.

Seras tossed Kateri over onto her back. _I can fix it. I can_... Too late. Her throat and helmet were riddled with bullet-holes. She was already dead. Shaken, Seras stared for a moment. She swallowed and placed her hand on Kateri's armour. Wordlessly, Seras gathered her soul up. Silently she placed it with all the others, bound to her forever. They expected her to say something at times like this. Seras turned her head so they could not see her tears. They would not react well if they saw her crying. She whispered out something only she understood. In moments Seras forgot what it was. She wiped the tears from her eyes. She had to keep going.

"Inez, Erich carry her. Maliq take rear-guard", Seras ordered. Then they started off again.

Magister Uloc watched the contact runes flare, shift, and bloom. The servants of the Corpse-God were incredibly frustrating. All they seemed to be able to do was hide. **Another** dozen contacts, _wonderful_.

"Order Grel and Uioc to take the northern hemisphere. Jrek and Sdik take the southern. No more racing around, one clean sweep to find them." he called out. His rotting flesh swung as he spoke, the thin filth-encrusted wires and needles that hooked him into the ships systems danced under their own weight. _Why can't they just turn and fight? I could be bombarding the invading ground forces, but nooooooo Gyxthax wants to kill them. Instead I get to chase phantoms. __**Please**_ _Papa Nurgle give me something to do... __**Besides**_ _watch the nurglings play cards, they're terrible at it._

* * *

"Sir, traitor ship changing course, concordance in five!" Lieutenant Ige suddenly called out.

"How long until we can drop?" Jun asked as he wheeled about.

"Three minutes."

_That's too close_

_"_Break off drop, continue evasive maneuvers."

_Next time around._

* * *

Heinrich and Garibaldi slammed into the back of the tank at the same time.

"Heinrich."

"Vezérezredes Garibaldi."

"How's things on your side?"

"Same old same old, horrible abominations beyond description, angry enemies of mankind everywhere."

"They just haven't gotten to know what wonderful people we are. Kraly take Lino and go! COVERING FIRE! SMOKE!" Kraly heaved Lino over his shoulder and darted off. The vox-link clicked on.

"Contacts: five coming in nor-" a loud explosion and a flash of light cut off the report, "correction two contacts coming in north-west of us." Euclea's low psychotic giggling could be heard over the line. Heinrich turned to Garibaldi.

"She isn't a Redemptionist is she?"

"Fortunately no, they kicked her out."

"...I'd ask, but then I'd know."

"Banner. Two hundred metres. Someone's on it" someone from Heinrich's team called out.

"Daemonvessel", Garibaldi said, "Dao, take the shot."

"On it." He unscrewed the regular barrel to his hell-gun and spun the longer one in. Then he took out a over-charge magazine and slapped it into place. He lined up his eye to the scope, his breathing slowed. He leaned the gun on the tank. Aiming, searching for the target. Traitors Marines, ignore; tank, ignore. A flash of red, there. With his free hand he upped the magnification until features resolved.

A tech-priest was nailed spread-eagle to an impromptu flag-banner. His flesh jumped and rolled, like something lived under his skin. He was screaming something, it sounded like 'kill me'. _Mercy you shall have._ Dao stopped breathing, then fired. He never heard the shot, adrenalin and blood rushing through his ears drowned it out, but scope showed all. Clean kill, peace granted.

* * *

"Stay back."

Seras silently plucked the melta-bomb from her belt. She twisted the arming clamp. Soundlessly she crept up to the command room door. Placing her hand on the handle she jerked the door open and flicked the bomb in. She threw the door shut and leaned into in. Her soldiers raced up and slammed into the door. Pounding and screaming started from the other side. A sudden wash of heat she could feel even through the door and her armour terminated their resistance.

Seras pulled the door open. One of the traitors was fused into the metal and swung with it. There were about ten cultists in the room. They were partially melted and wielded to the floor from the heat; flesh dripped off their blackened bones and pooled on the floor. Most were dead, some still 'lived'. None were Rythun. Seras stepped over the body of one and into the room.

_Were is he? _"Look for a trap-door!"

Seras turned on her own detector to search. The sound off ripping panels, thrown machinery and screeching metal filled the room. After a few minutes Erich called out. Seras hurried to him, he had found a small shaft in the side of the room hidden from the back. The opening would just barely fit the fallen Marine. The lift was at the bottom, she alone would have to jump. "Wait for my return."

She jumped. She could have used her powers to slow her descent. She would not wait a second to kill Rythun. Even still it was several moments of free-fall before she smashed into the bottom. Someone was waiting for her. If Seras cared to remember him it was the same fat cultist she killed on Itasion. If.

He started to speak. She snapped the _Eternus Odium_ free and charged. Seras slammed the bell into his chest. His ribs cracked and he doubled over. She quickly spun around, catching his face with her trailing hand. An overhead strike crushed him. Seras took a moment to scan the area. It was some type of mining column. Small at this end it widened out into the main line. She raced out to it. The main excavation's ceiling was twenty metres above her head. The opening ran off into the distance to her left and right. The rock here was melted, pale-blue pus leaked from the cracks.

A roar, the rock in front of her crumbled and Rythun stepped out. Far more massive than he was the last time, his head nearly scraped the ceiling. His helmet had burst and his face melded to it. Eyes barely remaining in his skull bobbed about, unfocused. In places the armour had failed to stretch bloated rolls of green flesh swung free. A dark fire played across his form. He raised his reforged scythe in challenge.

Seras did not even break stride.

* * *

_Being in command means there is never a dull moment._

"Armus fall back to rally point beta. Syus cover him." Briefly switching to the long range channel he stated "Now" and then flipped back to local channels. "Sila cover Droska as he falls back. Whirlwinds minefields at co-ordinates 87.03, 86.09 and 88.78." He checked his auspex. _Still have time, need to be quick._

"Explosion. Four hundred metres west of my position." Easus reported. He looked up and saw the massive billowing of smoke.

"That would be Euclea, Droska cancel last order, advance and pick up Purifier team."

He consulted the auspex again, setting it to the farthest magnification. A quick calculation gave him the rough location of their progress. "Rana take position thirty metres south-west of Sila. Ygi move up to the north-most edge of the debris field. Forthus go to the craters twenty metres south-west of Ygi."

_The_ _Emperor is with us. Hell's Gate arrested. _

* * *

Author's Notes: Again, all questions and comments are welcome.


	8. Merciless

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Oidera III  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Loss  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 504000651968736/4942198.8512  
*Thought For The Day: Fear Denies Faith

**

* * *

**

**HATRED IS MY SWORD  
CONTEMPT IS MY ARMOUR  
IN THE EMPORER'S NAME  
NONE SHALL SURVIVE**

Micheal vaulted out, blasting at random, trying to force the heretics to keep their heads down. A quick glimpse. A foul creature with a shimmering aura around it to the right, twenty metres. Randomly firing with his bolt-pistol he picked off few targets and forced the remainder down. The boxes the cultists with the rocket launcher hid behind raced up. He lowered his shoulder and smashed through. Shrill screams of dismay sounded. He caught one with his elbow. Shattering the cultist's head. A sweep of his sword cut two more in half. They broke apart. _There!_ The one with the launcher staggered back. Holding out tube as if to block his attacks. Micheal obliged it. Both the cultist and weapon fell to the ground in pieces.

He task complete, he snapped around and darted for the safety of the building. He had been spotted and rounds plinked off his armour. He was almost at the opening when one caught the gap between greave and boot. His knee and sinews splintered. He stumbled badly, but kept his feet. With his good leg he jumped forward. He just cleared the gap. He rolled father into the ruin. With a twitch Michael brought up the med-auspex. Patella destroyed, a tendon and two ligaments served. He felt no pain. He'd need to eat before regenerating the damage.

* * *

"Two contacts moving quick." Abzin called out.

"ETA?"

"About three." Garibaldi took a snap look around.

"We make our stand there!", he said, pointing to a group of vehicle hulls. "Heinrich! Ammo count!"

"Three-quarters charge. First-alpha fall back. Four frags, two krak."

"Euclea how much ordnance?"

"One melta, one claymore, not blessed."

He'd come up with something, he always did.

"Right. Kraly, drag Lino back and work on waking him up. Euclea hand me that melta."

* * *

"Signal from the surface!" called out the comm's officer.

"Come about to point five-five mark eight three sun-ward. Dispense all markers and bafflers" Jun snapped out.

"Coming about." More calls requests and commands. The officers were more than able to handle the task. Captain Jun reached deep into his ship. Past protocols, beyond the data-streams; to the roaring heart of the ship. To ready the void shields and weapons.

* * *

Commander Larion stole a fast look at the auspex. Units in position. Droska moving closer to the Purifier team. Intercept in ten. Distant bangs told him the main thrust had reached the minefields. A moment of relative quiet and the bangs increased in frequency.

"Enemy deploying mine-clearer's." Explosions, much louder and far more continuous drifted in. Chaos cultists were being ordered forward to detonate the mines. Either slowing the assault or stopping it made the same difference.

"Units in position take cover and hold. Engage suppressive fire. Timers set for five."

* * *

"Contacts Magister." Ulioc had heard dozens of them in the last few minutes.

"Ouuhh joy!! _**More**_ of 'em." Chasing phantoms was just as much fun as it implied.

"Confirmed return! Bearing zero one six seven." Ulioc was a wonder that he did not explode from relief.

"_Finally!_ Take us to intercept, prime weapons. Tell the others to follow along."

"At once!"

_ Thank you Father Nurgle._

_

* * *

  
_

It was a hard struggle to get standing, but Michael managed. He flipped back to the battle scans. Situation unchanged. He couldn't keep wasting ammo on the witch. He'd have to risk sending in the jump squad to eliminate it. He was about to order that when a transmission came in.

"Scouts in position, awaiting fire mission."

_Finally! _A moment to make a decision. One last try on the witch.

"Target: Enemy witch. Location: twenty metres from my position, south-east."

"Confirmed, psy-bolts loaded."

Michael didn't recall them having psy-bolts. Another twitch and he brought up munitions list. Yes the scouts had them.

So did tactical.

_ Idiot, idiot, idiot! Incompetent fool! Failing horribly already._

A small pop.

"Target down."

"Assault team jump into cultist group east twenty metres. Tactical prepare to move out."

"_**FOR THE EMPEROR!**_" The scream of turbines destroyed the air. A moment of almost stillness. Then the thunderous slams of power armour impacting ground.

"Tactical move to cover behind closest building."

"Moving Brother-Lieutenant."

_**"DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF THE DIVINE RULE OF MAN!!!" **_The roar of chain-swords and the traitor's screams was audible even over the gunfire.

"Support clear a path between structures."

"At once."

* * *

"Dao stims, then morpha."

Dao poked the hypos one after the other into Lino's stump. Kraly started shaking him.

"_Lino,_ _Lino, Lino wake up, wake up!_" Grunting Lino slowly came to and sat up.

"Zzrr?"

"Lino, we need you to bless the a claymore." He bobbed his head heavily.

"'Kay." He started the intonation and tried to bring his hands over it. He stopped, twisted his head to look at his missing arm. "Where'd m' arm go, sir?"

"We lost it. We'll try and find it later."

"Okay", he said as he bobbed his head. He turned back to his work. "In the Names of the Line of Saints: By the Name of Bravery may you never falter in the face of evil.-"

_The long version, great._

"Get setup, how long?"

"In the Name of Insight the illusions of the Enemy shall never deceive you.-"

"One and a half."

"Heinrich you got the left, I'll take right. Be ready to shift to where they move."

"In the Name of Purity the temptations of the profane shall not turn you."

"Put the claymore there, Kraly one side of it."

"I'll take point."

"By the Name of War may you never tire, Her Example a lesson to us all. Amen"

* * *

The first Plague Marine, Guxelt, strode ahead of his companion, Dyioc, assured that the minions of the False Emporer were near. The tracks in the dirt were getting fresher, they were carrying an injured man. Soon they would all accept the blessing of Nurgle. The trail curved around the back of a destroyed Leman Russ. His auto-senses detected nothing. He grasped the chassis and leaned around. A small metallic 'clink' brought his attention upward. A melta-bomb had shot out from the wreck and attached itself to his hand. Guxlet quickly snapped his hand down smacking it off; bouncing it onto his helmet. An anguished cry and he reached up to tear it- too late.

Dyioc witnessed Guxlet's death. Too far back to help, but close enough to see. Blinded by wrath he slammed forward, determined to avenge the slaughter of his friends. He stormed forward, crushing debris under his boots. Thundering out challenges he smashed aside part of a wreck. Too late he saw the soldier to the right. A stake slammed into his helmet and pulped that part of his head. Screaming curses and fury he chased the dog through the tank-corpses. A bang, he collapsed to his knees. Something, some explosive had nearly ripped out both his legs. He struggled to rise. He would not let these _murderers_ get away- His auto-senses rang out. Target on the right. He twisted to fire-

Kraly swung his hammer with all his strength, catching the protruding stake head-on. It sliced the rest of the way into the Fallen Marine's head, killing him.

"Good job, let's get back to our lines."

* * *

First Officer Dmitri approached the Captain's cupola. He saluted and handed the captain a data-slate.

"Captain we are in position."

"Good. Enemy arrival is in?"

"Two minutes. All the decoys are launched."

"Turn to present. Target lock as soon as she faces."

All is in readiness. They had played their part to perfection. Fides and Theodus will take over shortly.

* * *

Droska ran into the Purifier teams half way back to their lines. All accounted for.

"How much time?" Garibaldi yelled out.

"Three-forty."

"Call out every thirty. Shoulder arms! Double time!" Their crashed forward, gear banging and clattering. Breath catching in the re-breathers. Wrecks crawled past. The count down coming in at regular intervals. Garibaldi scanned back and forth, looking for suitable cover. All too soon thirty seconds were called out. "There!" he yelled jabbing at the remains of some crawler. They piled into whatever cover they could take. "Dig! Dig! Dig!" Shovels out they scrapped meager holes and trenches. Tossing themselves in they bunkered and waited.

* * *

Magister Ulioc watched as the little dot on the screen slowly resolved into a ship. A Sword, nothing more than a frigate. That had been what caused him all the grief today. He wanted a kill shot. He wanted to blast their little toy ship to pieces. Pity they would never see their stupid 'saint' die.

A thought and he dove into his own ship. A mere thought and he brought forth all the power to forward shields and weapons. He was a _god_ with this at his command. He could raze planets to dust with this at his fingertips. Not even _Rythun_, even if the Gods gave him their blessings, could match this. Unconsciously he leaned forward, leering. The little Sword class was going to be a drifting cloud of vapor in a moment. The targeting reticule got smaller and-

Pain.

His left side ripped out as claws of black pain tore his body open and pulped his mind.

Pain

Organs ripped free. Nerves shredded and ignited. Breathing stopped, his heart exploded.

Pain.

The world faded to a merciful nothing.

Pain.

Flicker. Bridge crew hammering at the controls. Darkness. Flicker. A face. Darkness. Slowly, so slowly he came to. His right hand instinctively went his left half. No, no _he w_as intact.

_My ship. _

_My _ship.

Port sectors two through five were ripped open and bleeding into hard vacuum. Crew sectors destroyed. All but two of the energy lines from the engines were destroyed. The engine itself was crippled. Gellar generators gone. Warp drive shattered. The very frame of the ship distorted. Weapons and shields non-functional on port-side.

"Adjust orientation one hundred eighty degrees" he slurred. His brain felt like cold grease. A surge in his inner ear told him his ship was spinning in place now. A thought and he pulled up what meager scanning data was available. The image set into his eyes. It blurred with reality. Ulioc shut his eye lids to concentrate on the picture.

One ping a cloud of contacts hundreds of kilometres to the relative west narrowed. A few clouds in orbit cut down by half. Second ping and the clouds in orbit were winnowed away, and the cloud to the west resolved.

A battlebarge. Two strike cruisers. Nearly a dozen escorts. Spear formation. Ulioc felt all sensation fade away into the ether. It was like watching a holovid, he just wasn't there.

"Contact the surface," he said quietly, "load torpedoes, all power to starboard void shields, ready weapon batteries."

He watched helplessly as the attendant destroyers broke off to engage his own fleet. The _Restful Innocence _stopped rotating. Battle-plans came to life and died as quickly. His options were limited, Papa Nurgle was with him. He would find a way.

"Magister we can't raise the surface! Dead on all channels!" Uloc snapped his head to stare the comms-officer.

_No, no that's not possible. Gythax is playing a joke. They were winning half-an hour ago. They can't be all dead. Comms is playing a joke. Nurgle would have let me know. _

_ We're the last ones alive._

"Order fleet to disengage and run." Cold, precise. There was nothing in it.

_It wasn't enough._ _Rythun failed. That bitch killed him._

A pair of hands clamped around his leg. One of the nurglings was wailing, his friends all dead. It screamed for him to make the bad people go away.

_Not today, not today little one. I'm sorry Grandfather Nurgle. I did the best I could. Forgive me?_

"Open fire with all available batteries. Lock down and de-power all non-essential syst-"

Ping. More contacts. Much closer. Much faster.

Torpedoes.

"**Brace for im-!**"

They smashed into the hull. The engine was ripped apart. The frame warped and broke . A few coughing explosions cut the last of the grand cruiser into chunks, but it was already dead. Some parts began the slow and rapid crash to the planet below.

Unopposed _The Song of Hate _strode forth.

* * *

Commodore Theodus surveyed his bridge. The marble wrought scenes of the Saints, pre- and post-Imperium adorned the walls surrounding the bridge. From behind him an image of the Founder surveyed his command. Data passed to and fro. Clarifications, questions and requests filled the air; a jumble of movement, perfectly economical, precise and unhurried.

"Arch-enemy capital ship burning, sir" reported Tactical. Theodus nodded.

"Good. Set drop-assault sequence for two minutes."

"Sequence is set", said Niciloi.

"Begin reloading bombardment cannon."

"Orbit will be reached in thirty seconds" rang out the Navigational.

"Flanking units report readiness for deployment", Adai stated through the vox-link.

"One minute forty-five seconds until drop assault" chimed the cogitator.

"Companies one through three report readiness."

"Orbit in twenty seconds."

"Void shields to stern" Theodus ordered.

"Bombardment cannon reloading at fifty percent."

"Orbit made. Position centering."

"One minute to drop assault." Seconds lengthened to moments. The buzz of conversation intensified.

"Launch flankers." Theodus told the launch staff.

"Launching flankers. Away."

"Companies four through eight report readiness."

"Forty-five seconds until drop assault."

"Flanker launch completed."

"Bombardment cannon reloading at eighty-percent."

"Locater beacon locked on."

"Set maximal spread for one hundred and fifty metres."

"Thirty seconds until drop-assault." Moments stretched out to hours. Movement was faster, more direct.

"All companies report readiness."

"Twenty seconds until drop assault."

"Bombardment cannon reloading complete."

"FIRE!" Theodus commanded.

"Fire mission inbound."

"Fifteen seconds."

Theodus leaned over and strike the runes to bring up the appropriate litany.

"In the Name-", the cogitator systems began.

"Target impacted. Casualties: heavy."

"-of the God- Emperor-."

"Ten seconds."

"-the unclean- "

"Nine."

"-the impure."

"Fighters launch!"

"Eight."

"-and those who traffic-"

"Seven"

"Bombers launch!"

"Six."

"-with them-"

"Five." Hours to days. The knife's edge balanced, awaiting a fall.

"Aerial craft launch complete."

"Four."

"-shall be cleansed-"

"Launch armour contingent."

"Three." Days to forever.

"Bombardment complete."

"Two."

"-in Fire."

"One." An eternity breached at last. Silence. Stillness.

"Amen." they all concluded.

"All forces: Launch."

* * *

Michael limped out and trudged toward the battle. The cultists hiding with the now-dead witch were almost completely destroyed. He stumbled out of the way of the last one's arm as it arced through the air. A quick glance down the field of battle brought more heretics taking badly aimed shots at them.

"Assault take the traitors there", and jabbed with his sword. A moment later he added, "twenty-five metres east", realizing they probably couldn't see.

"_PURGE THEM!_" The squad leader screamed as she shot off. Michael glanced at the auspex. The enemy troops didn't seem to be coming from the buildings. There must be tunnels of some kind. He reached the metal detritus and stabbed a half-dead cultist.

"Tactical sweep between the structures. Drop grenades down any openings. Stay away from the buildings themselves." He added the last when he saw a cultist snared by ropey strands of flesh and engulfed into the foul mass. "Support get ready to move."

"Affirmative."

He stumped further up the field, trying to keep up with the assault team. He was not going to make it. Most of the enemy was in pieces. The last mistakenly though surrender was an option. A quick glance at the auspex brought up the most likely hiding spots.

"Assault, sweep south to the edge of the plateau and circle back to north. Kill anyone not on our side" he said gesturing with his sword.

"_**CONFIRMED! DEATH TO ALL THOSE THAT OPPOSE THE EMPEROR!**_"

_I need to stop doing that_, Michael thought, _right after I do this_. He pointed to a small mob of cultists that had poked their heads up for a shot. With a terrified scream they boiled out of cover and scrambled away.

"Tactical: target the cultists that just vacated cover."

"At once."

Wailing the nurglities realized their mistake. They through their hands out as if to ward the shots. A few bangs and they were cut down. The runes on the auspex were much fewer now. Almost no firing now. He took a few moments to observe the battlefield. Chunks and viscera dotted the ground in clumps. Markers of brief struggles. One of the structures caught his eye. Unlike the others one to the far north was a small rockcrete hut. He brought up the scout team.

"Scouts: send a team to recon structure to the north edge. Be careful it may be trapped."

"Confirmed and on route."

Light.

A second sun dawned.

The purest white white light saturated everything. Michael could see nothing. The noise was so loud he didn't even recognize it at first. He thought he yelled out 'take cover', but he could not honestly tell. Moments past. The light slowly faded. The sound was crushing.

Then the sky fell.

Fire careened down from the heavens. A massive fireball tore through the sky. Smaller lines of flame surrounded the inferno. The main assault had commenced. His task, as badly as he had mangled it, was nearly over.

"Support, move up to the plateau slope and cover."

"Moving out."

"_**TARGET OBSCURAS! ENGAGING**_!"

_What could that be? _Michael twisted around to see the assault team launched themselves at the new enemy. They were human-form. Rotten and decomposed they drug exposed organs in the dirt. Blackened talons grew from weird point on their hands. Most of their faces seem to have been torn or bitten off. As soon as assault hit it was over.

The front rank of the creatures were bowled over and shattered. Chainswords roared and bit into corroded flesh. Limbs and greenish blood flew out. Assault hit the back half. Litanies met with bestial growls. Movement. Michael watched as the downed horrors regenerated. Innards and muscles shot out. Sticking to severed parts and drug them back to the whole. They stumbled to their feet.

"Assault behind you. They're reforming."

"_**PURGE THE FILTH!**_" They smashed the rising creatures back into the dirt. Their claws scrapped against ceramite armour, but found no purchase. One vampire was picked up and slammed head-first into the ground. No matter the abuse they kept on living.

"Tactical load psy-bolts and advance to Assault's position. Assault disengage."

A roar from the team leader and they jumped off. The vampires knitted themselves back together and were immediately cut down by tactical. Consumed by holy fire, they did not rise again. Michael slowly stomped up to the east end of the plateau. As he moved up he saw movement from the vampires.

Only one, it lay on its face, trying to stand. He stormed over and stepped on its back, keeping it from rising.

"Flamer on my position."

* * *

The ground stopped shaking, dust slowly settled, sound ceased. Garibaldi popped up first. A snap look confirmed every one was uninjured. Giant crater in the middle of the field.

"Up! Moving out! Watch the pods! Abzin, all yours!" Garibaldi ordered. Heinrich had his team moving.

"SEARCH AND CLEANSE!"

Abzin took point and rushed her team forward. Garibaldi hung back, covering them.

* * *

Flanking drop-ships raced over the battle, assault ramps opened and jump teams ready to drop into the war below. Reclusiarch Sarah Laelia of the Unerring Blade glared down at the clouds and smoke. She usually commenced assaults by visually sighting the target. With the cover she couldn't see. She glanced over at the auspex showing a rough approximation of the ground. It gave her no sense of place or proximity. She waited until she thought they were in the right spot and jumped. Behind her all three hundred of the cult's adherents followed her plunge into the gloom.

The free-fall swept away all noise, all sensation. They spent these few moments in prayer.

* * *

Gyxthax struggled to his feet. He wobbled for a moment and staggered upright. He was a good twenty metres from his last position. He blinked back the haze in his eyes and looked at his auspex. Even counting the double-vision he had maybe half of his forces left. _Ulioc can't you wait for a firing solution first? _He opened a vox channel to comms.

"Comms, get me Ulioc!", he paused momentarily before launching into a tirade. "Ulioc do you know what 'friendly fire' means? Give you a hint, _it's not_! Do I need to explain-" He cut himself short. Ulioc had always argued back with him now. All he heard was static. "Ulioc? Ulioc? ... Comms?" _Great, I'm being jammed. _Noise, he looked up and saw the descending drop pods and thunderhawks,

"Awww hell", he jammed the rune that would allow him to address what was left of his army. "Fall back."

* * *

Drop pods screamed down into the atmosphere, trailing streams of fire. Warriors sang out joyous hymnals of hate and retribution. An avalanche of sound and violence and fire. The force shredded the atmosphere, crushing and burning all before it. The noise was a onslaught against the senses. The craft bounced and rocked about as it careened to the earth. Thunderhawks with attached Valkyries tore through the sky, alight with flames at the speeds they traveled. Speeders fell even faster, a suicidal drive the destroy the Enemy. Thousands and thousands of hearts, all searing with righteous hate. Weapons tore open, smashing down the Death Guard. _Ave Immortalis-Imperator._

At ten thousand metres the Valkyries detached with percussive bangs. They wobbled for a moment before righting themselves, descending a slower pace. The Thunderhawks continued their murderous pace to the ground.

Retro jets on the drop pods slammed to life, jolting the warriors. Songs ceased, ammo checked and blades readied. War was here, the Emperor's Justice, so long denied, **demanded** to be delivered. With a shriek the pods crashed down, the very ground trembling under the impact and ripped open.

"**FOR THE EMPEROR!**"

"_AVE SANCTUS BELLUM!_"

"DEATH!", they screamed as they opened fire into the Death Guard. The sound blanked out and became a single endless roar. Forward they charged, a tidal wave of destruction directed at the Traitors. They slew with contempt. They advanced without pity. With hate coursing through their veins the forces of the Hellsing Order crushed all those before them.

Valkyries finished their descent. Hatched popped. Landing ropes were shoved out and the stormtroopers vaulted out. Each slammed into the ground and rolled out of the way of the next. Squads formed up and advanced into the battle. Captain Verria hung back, watching the battle be joined. Armour coming in from the north. Augmented warriors all on the south. The Unerring Blade would land to the west, and his stormtroopers to close the vise.

"Vox" he said. A moment and his vox-operator stumbled over and handed him the caster, "Sit-rep."

"_**STORMTROOPER ALPHA ENGAGED!**_" came the joyous shout from first company.

"Beta is in position and setting up" the staccato tones of second company's commander.

"**Gamma's movin' in**" the strained yell of third company.

"Delta down" from the notoriously quiet lieutenant of fourth company.

* * *

Lieutenant Feroi crashed into the back of the Chimera first platoon had advanced to. Mortar pops could be heard from behind them. The frag-mortars arced high and came down nearly vertical on their targets. First platoon was all present, ready and able. He turned to his master-sergeant and said:

"Hey. How about 'Who wants to live forever?'" Feroi knew that Malcolm hated that particular battle-cry above all others.

Sergeant Malcolm faced Feroi, knowing full well that a smile was splitting the lieutenant's face in half.

"Emperor, please grant me the strength not to strangle the fool in front of me."

Feroi laughed. He motioned with his chainsword.

"_**ALL FORWARD, ADVANCE AND DESTROY!**_" Their echoing cry surged above the sounds of battle for a moment, then they advanced into the Death Guard. From cover to wreck, wreck to cover the forward advance of Alpha company relentlessly hammered the retreating enemy. Feroi caught one staggering to his feet. His chainsword lanced out hitting the traitor in the neck. Obscene screams issued from what was left of its throat. It tired to push the blade away. With a kick Feroi sent the sword completely through, decapitating the creature. Its compatriots had abandoned it. A quick tap on the comm-bead brought up delta company.

"_**MORTARS! RANGE FIFTY METRES WEST FROM MY POSITION! HIGH EX!**_"

"Confirmed."

Another tap connected him to the platoon leaders. A fast warning about the fire mission and he ordered them around and in.

* * *

Abzin caught a vampire in the throat and slashed out its chest with her long-dull silver knife. Kraly and Dao were engaged in running fire-fights and could not assist. Euclea lobbed the last few of her grenades, wishing she had brought fifty kilos of high-ex instead of thirty. Abzin slapped an aquila into the vampire's forehead, and started looking for the next target. Garibaldi took a few peremptory shots, snapped up an aquila and flipped into the air. He shrugged his hellgun to his shoulder, unclipped his hook and pulled a stake.

The plague-vampire burst out from its hiding place and lunged at him. He ducked and swept its legs out from under it. As it crashed to the ground, Garibaldi reversed the swing and slammed the stake under its rib-cage and into its heart. A spasm or two and it died. The aquila Garibaldi flicked out landed on its forehead with a small 'plink'.

"All clear?" Abzin called out. A short list of confirmations and they moved on.

* * *

Commander Larion turned yelled to the Agrios Chines "Go!" Before he could twist back to the battle they had already raced away and were smashing through everything that stood in their path. "Command Squad move up!" Fire from the Death Guard was much less now, they knew they were surrounded. He jabbed the runes on his vox to bring up the captains in the assault. "Verria status."

"All companies deployed and fighting."

"Stavis?"

"Speeders dropped, Unerring Blade has jumped. Land Raiders coming down."

"Kelioch?"

"In attack pattern, will be in range in moments."

"Any sighting on enemy commander?"

A long list of replies, all negative. "Keep searching."

* * *

"_**FORWARD! IN NAMES OF THE LINE OF SAINTS!**_" Feroi screamed, blasting at anything that did not swear allegiance to the Golden Throne. A storm of fire strobed near him and he crashed into the treads of a chimera.

_**"Baise! Fallen Terminators at ... 52.56,**__** mortars, AT, artillery!" **_

"Confirmed. Ra-", Beta's commander suddenly burst on the line.

"**Chines comin' up hot!"**

** _"LET 'EM THOUGH! LET 'EM THOUGH!"_ **Feroi dove deeper into cover as the armoured giants bashed through the scatterings of metal and burned hulls. Not noticing if anything got in their way. Bolter fire pattered off the maelstrom shields and power armour. Feroi stuck his head out to watch.

The first line of Agrios Chines smashed into the corrupted Marines. Pus-coated powerfists scrapped on the shields, thunder-hammers beat Traitors down to the ground. A Chines with lighting claws slashed at one. Her claws were caught and crushed only for the Terminator to have his arm ripped out and thrown. Another took a thunder-hammer to the chest and sailed back several metres. His companion was tore limb from limb. Feroi ducked a flying leg. The Chine's onslaught was spectacular. Feroi tapped his vox.

"Delta. Scratch previous." Another poke brought up his company. What battle cry to use? One he hadn't used in a while... yes that one! "_**FOR THE TWIN SAINTS!**_" and careened forward.

Feroi sighted a still alive Fallen Terminator missing his lower half and burst his head with a vicious salvo. Their firestorm continued. The assault carried onto their grudging retreat. Las-bolts rang against tainted armour like water. Enough water to drown a desert. Holes slowly formed in the Enemy's plate. Arms, legs and organs rent off piece by piece.

"_**FLASH-BANGS! FLASH-BANGS!**_"

A clatter, the small tubes landed in the middle of their formation. Light and blessed silver cut whorls of agony in the ranks of Plague Marines. Screaming praise to the Immortal Emperor Alpha company charged into melee. Sluggishly the Death Guard met the attack. To Feroi's right seven of his stormtroopers grappled a Marine and slashed at his throat and knees to bring it down. On his left Malcolm got behind one and shoulder tackled his knee. A wide sweep knocked two troopers away, but a third jammed her bayonet in the Marine's neck and opened fire. Feroi launched himself at another.

The twisted mockery of human life thrust with his tainted sword and Feroi pivoted to the side. Swinging hard he arced back and cut off the Marine's hand at the wrist. He ducked the snap punch and rolled to the side of the enemy. He spun with his weight and tried to sweep the Marine's legs. He smacked his foot against power armour, only succeeding in hurting himself. Annoyed he dropped his pistol and drew his knife; stabbed a small break in the plates.

The creature gave no indication it felt the attack and rounded about. Feroi grabbed his gun and flipped back to his feet. It rushed him, hoping to crush Feroi with its bulk. Feroi backed up slashing with his chainsword. Sparks flew, but the armour held. Feroi took a step forward, to smash his bolt-pistol under it chin and burst it head. Before he could a small explosion crippled it right leg. The Traitor staggered and dropped to a knee. Feroi sliced its head off cleanly.

Malcolm closed his grenade pouch looking weary as always.

"Could you please wait for backup before going one-on-one?"

Feroi gave a jaunty bow and then ordered everyone forward again.

* * *

"Brother-Lieutenant the Enemy advances this way."

"Support load kraken rounds and cut down any who attempt to climb. Tactical move to assist them. Assault prepare to counter-charge."

"Brother-Lieutenant Michael" the scout leader called out.

"Yes?"

"Rockcrete hut contains mining explosives, no visible traps or targets inside." A plan began to form in Michael's mind.

"Any flammables?"

"Yes, several." A quick check of the ammo count revealed that the scouts had firestorm rounds.

"Bring as many as you can to the east of the plateau."

* * *

The bombardment finished. The smoke and clouds forced aside. The Unerring Blade were off course. Sarah slammed the vox-rune and screamed out, "Missed!" She straightened up, ready to engage the jump pack. Behind her all of the cult formed up, awaiting combat. She mentally counted down and with a thought brought the jets roaring to life. Even for all its power she impacted the ground hard. Keeping the engines burning she launched forward, crashing into a Fallen Marine.

"**Blessed are the Fires of Purgation!**" Caught unawares the plague creature tumbled away, its spine snapped. "**Damnation falls upon the weak!**" Another twisted around to had its head cut off. "**As a blade the Righteous strike true!**" The first ranks of the assault wave smashed down and launched shot forward, hacking and shooting any traitor they could reach. Screaming out hate-filled chants and litanies.

* * *

Gyxthax propped up their faltering lines. Bolstering morale where it threated to collapse. The vise was closing only the way back to HQ was still open. A group of plague terminators were surrounded further up the field. He could do nothing for them. The pressure on all fronts compressed them closer and closer. Gyxthax waved and gestured theatrically. If they were all to die, they'd die a death to make Papa Nurgle proud.

The Traitors were not the only ones to watch him.

"Stormtrooper Beta Two One here. Enemy commander sighted. Co-ords 43.65. Heading west three kilo."

"Affirmative."

The _Song of Hate_ launched the last three drop pods. They streamed down quickly and without fanfare. They impacted twenty metres from Gyxthax. Hatches popped. Twenty warriors in ornate power armour drove forth.

Supreme Commander Duran Fides took the field. He stood up and reached back for _Excalibur_, his long companion in wars. A Plague Marine screamed and charged him, chain-blade revving. Casually, Duran back-handed it out of the way. The broken traitor landed in a heap, never to rise again. With his out-stretched arm Duran pointed to Gyxthax, a cold challenge. The once-Astartes stood unmoved for a moment. Then he slipped away.

"COWARD!" Duran roared and charged after him, cutting down all in his path.

* * *

"Brother-Lieutenant the enemy has reached the incline."

"Understood." Micheal drug himself over to the assault team and the scouts with the appropriated flammables. "Assault take these canister and throw them as hard as you can into the air" he pointed to the incline, "scouts when they are just above the ground fire incendiaries into them." A chorus of confirmations. He stumped back to the overlook. The putrid tide of greens had the bottom of the plateau and were advancing up. The Unerring Blade had not managed to cut off their retreat yet. He brought up his auspex. Contact runes swirled about. The Blade's advance was stalled. Keiv and Jelani were not in position to aid.

He brought the display closer. Trying to find someway to completely cut off their retreat. Rune swarmed against the Blade. As he watched a a few more enemy squads broke off to engage. _That's it! _Michael activated the longer ranges for his vox and scanned for the Unerring Blade's line. After a moment he found chatter that was consistent with their battle catechisms.

"Unerring Blade, this is Brother-Lieutenant Michael. Disengage current target and assault at position 24.50 parallel to plateau."

"**AT ONCE! ONLY IN WAR ARE WE PURE!**"

Michael saw the flashed of jets and watched as they bounded in place. A few more transmissions to the other commanders to let them know what he was planning. For a moment the enemy milled about uncertainly, then the closest surged up the incline.

"Support fire at will. Assault NOW!" A scream of turbines and bestial roar and the impromptu bombs were on their way.

"Targeting..." The canisters arced lower and lower. A few of the Death Guard saw them and scattered. Too late. A staccato bang and they exploded, fire blazed out and engulfed dozens. Few fell, but the sticky fuel latched on and continued burning. In the craters it pooled and several more tumbled in. Support team opened fire, the lower pitched noise cutting out all other sound momentarily. Scouts and tactical fire off precision volleys.

* * *

Gyxthax rumbled up with the remnants of his army. Burned, smashed and being shot at, he recalled **much** better days. Thunk. _Ow._ He tossed out orders. Thunk. _Ow_. He didn't think anyone was listening anymore. Thunk. _Ow_. Getting to the tunnels and fighting there was his best, and only option at this point. Thunk. _Ow_. His two plague-Brothers in front of him suddenly dropped and he was in front. Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk. _Ow ow ow ow ow ow- __**stop shooting me! **_A burning impact smacked into his right side. He felt his right lung turn into mush. He almost dropped, but he kept going.

Michael directed the fire into the last. They stampeded forward in near mindless fashion. They fell, but a few would make it.

"Assault prepare to counter-attack!" The one in front, his armour was different than the rest. The commander? "Tactical vengeance rounds into the leader!"

Gyxthax surged through the last of the weapons-fire and launched himself at Michael. Michael parried low and Gyxthax swung high, aiming for his head. Michael released the locking mechanisms on his wounded knee and fell backwards. Gyxthax staggered, trying to regain his balance and bring the scythe around for another attack. Michael drew his bolt-pistol and fire a single shot into his enemy's head.

* * *

Duran idly watched the incoming reports. Resistance broken, mop-up operations commencing. Plague-vampires killed in total. Purifier teams notified of undead artifacts and unknowns.

_Another victory for you my Emperor._

_

* * *

  
_

Rythun's scythe crashed down. Seras's deamonhammer arced up. Impact. _**Hate**_. The scythe twisted back. Ready for it Rythun flipped the pole of the weapon around his wrist and swung two-handed at her. Seras snapped the hammer back and hit the blade dead-on. **Hate hate**. The daemon-weapon shot back against his chest. Pus-slicked boots slid across the ground. Popping the scythe up he brought it down with an overhead smash. Seras slammed it back, the blade singing in agony. **Hate hate hate hate hate**.

He flipped it around again, coming at her with the end of the pole this time. Seras smacked it away hard and brought the bell of the hammer into the rapidly descending daemon-weapon. Metal chips and splinters flew from tainted scythe. Rythun struggled to keep his grip on it. She charged and he stumbled back before getting the weapon under control. He swept the blade at her and she slammed it into the ground. Seras pinned it to the floor with her boot and smashed the Eternus Odium into the flat. It held still, but their were cracks were wood joined metal.

**Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate.**

Rythun jerked the weapon up and Seras flipped off it. Quickly Rythun brought the tip of the blade down, but Seras veered to the side. Another attack and the Daemon-Prince slide further back down the tunnel. He feinted at her feet and before he could draw the scythe back she jumped forward and smashed it back into his face. His hands wrenched back, the weapon was starting to bend. He twirled the weapon and launched himself forward. Seras bashed the assault back. Rythun lost his grip and the pole crashed into his chest. The Greater-Daemon bound to the blade wailed in agony. Seras charged and Rythun hastily back-pedaled. He replaced his handle on the scythe and readied another strike.

The sounds of the violence echoed endlessly in those confined quarters. Clashes of metal continued to live on after the moment had passed. His attacks were relentless, but Rythun could not break through her guard. Another swung, crash, he slide back. Side-attack, the screaming of metal, the blade was warped farther. The mine-shaft was narrowing, interfering with his swing. He shoved the scythe out, blunt end first. Seras blocked the attack, spun around and bashed it with murderous force. Rythun's fingers could barely keep the weapon from flying away. This time he was not pushed back very far.

He had hit the end of the tunnel. Abandoning his power attacks he tried a flurry of quick strike to back her up. Each was smashed aside. Each hit on the scythe pushing him father into the back wall.

**Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate**

The last hit that nearly wrenched the scythe free and he brought it back to his chest, and swung it at full extension. Seras readied a swing, and back-flipped over the blade. Unprepared to stop his attack, the scythe slammed into the wall and stuck. Seras grabbed a krak grenade and when her feet hit the floor lobbed it at the hands pinned between wall and the pole. Rythun made a jerking motion to pull away from the grenade, but it was stuck. The charge smacked into the pus-coating and detonated. Seras charged.

Rythun leaned back, pulling with all his weight to get the scythe free. It refused to budge. Seras slammed the daemonhammer into his left knee. With a terrible crack and scream from Rythun the armour shattered and his leg broke in half. Twisting about the hammer careened into his right leg snapping it to pieces. He dropped to his knees, legs ripping in half. Seras tumbled out of the way and he crashed to the ground. With an upward swing she crushed his falling arm. She snapped up her plasma pistol and fired into his shoulder. Tainted ceramite and flesh vaporized. Only a thin line of bone and sinews kept the limb on. When another strike even that was torn away.

Rythun struggled to rise, his damaged hand could not support him for long. Seras darted at his remaining arm. He lashed out at her desperate to hurt her as he was hurt. She smacked his claws away, shredding his hand to bits. She beat the remains of his arm into the ground, shattering every inch of bone, armour and flesh.

Unable to balance himself Rythun toppled helplessly to the ground. Seras rushed him. The first swing pulped the right half of his face. The next ripped out his jaw.

**Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate **

The daemonhammer slammed Rythun's skull into the rock, shattering what was left of his head. A side hit forced his remaining eye from him. Another crushed into jelly. She hammered his head in the dirt. Seras smashed his neck. Destroyed any part of him she could reach. He died slowly and grudgingly. Still desiring to kill her. He forced his shattered legs to push him forward; intending to bite or crush her. A brutal back-hand swing ended his frail hope. Seras spun around and obliterated his throat with a rising strike. The Daemon Prince was flung bodily upwards. Another battered him into the wall.

His armour burned with the force of Seras's hate. He slumped were he landed, indented into the tunnel. She smashed the plate covering his chest, fragments of the armour lanced out. Slivers lacerated his internal organs. She beat him over and over again. His viscera bashed into paste. Seras hit him relentlessly, no pity, no compassion.

Rythun's mortal shape slowly and finally collapsed. Warp-fire spread over his ruined body, his patron ready to reclaim him.

Seras was not finished. There would be no immortality, no_ here-after_, no** future** for him. She lashed out with her powers and seized his soul. A shriek, he knew what she planned. She pulled, Rythun fought back. Inexorably the rotten thing Seras grappled stretched, it frayed. A dismayed roar. He threw the last of his strength at her, hoping to distract her. Nothing could sway her. A tear, more panicked cries, it spread and then his soul ripped in half. Furiously Seras tore chunks of it asunder. Tossing the pieces aside and shredding larger parts she had discarded.

_**Hate.**_

Nothing, nothing remained. A few drifting tatters in the eternity of the Immaterium. Seras watched his corpse smolder and turned. She locked her hammer in place and jabbed the vox button.

"Niki. Situation?"

"Battle concluded. Complete destruction of the Enemy. Minimal causalities. No reports of non-combatants."

"Good."

She shut off the communication line. She couldn't think about the past or present now, only the future.

There were still more names to be killed.

* * *

Iron- Alucard will be in towards the end with a two-handed chain-weapon of some type to be determined and artificer armor.


	9. Requiem

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: The Song of Hate  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Requiem  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 5040001459247/4512689753.47836  
*Thought For The Day: The Number of Those Fallen in the Emperor's Name Outnumber the Stars

* * *

One hundred thirty-seven causalities.

Eighty-two were not serious and were on light duties.

Forty-seven would need replacement limbs or organs.

Eight in a healing coma that would last half a year.

Twenty-four fatalities.

Sixteen instantly gone.

Five who passed before the medics could reach them.

Two that fought on after being injured and bled out.

One fell in front of her.

Seras was away, sitting in her quiet, dark room. Armour on with all the trappings of her 'position'. It was easier when she wasn't herself, but some creature of these times. Paper, data-slates and pictures spread before her. She read the all names; the how and the why.

Each report she pored over told the story of the battle. Larion's stand, drawing out the traitors. Jun's frantic game of hide and seek. Kelioch's rampage through steel and flesh. Feroi's head-long reckless charge. Michael's self-deprecating account. He shouldn't be so hard on himself. She had seen reports just like that before though. Duran had made a good choice.

Through the records the battle came alive. The fury, the violence, the joys and the elation rang out in the words. Tanks exploded, ripped apart from within, traitors were cut down in droves, screaming as they died. Fire washed over her, burning her. Shots and ordnance smashed off to her sides. She read them all, proud of her soldiers. She hated how they attributed victory to her and not themselves, but she was still proud of them and all they did.

Slowly Seras finished up with reports. She needed to give a eulogy. It was expected of her. She would have given one without question. With no pause she could name every deed accomplished by the fallen. She brought up the logs anyway. She didn't want to say goodbye just yet, so she hide for a while longer. A few button presses and she had their lives in front of her. Page by page, honour by honour, wound and scar she walked through the past. The beginnings, the hopes and dreams, and then the end.

Her timepiece chimed. Twenty minutes to the start of the ceremony. She stood up, gathered up the data-slates, records and pictures and placed them away, with the rest of her memories. She kept everything. From the time just after Millennium to now. Nothing was left behind. She put, folded and moved them to the right spots. Her armour and her mask were set. She was as ready as she ever would be.

She still wasn't ready to say good-bye.


	10. Inquisitorial Report 1

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.

Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: The Song of Hate  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 2 217.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: The Broader Picture  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 5040001459247/4512689753.47836  
*Thought For The Day: Be Strong in Your Ignorance

* * *

To: Inquisitor Prex

From Acolyte Unryi

Incident at Hope's End analyzed. Imperial Guard regiment opened fire at still unknown target in Serenity Gardens for an estimated three hours. Over two hundred lascannons three hundred man-portable anti-tank weapons and one thousand anti-personnel weapons. Additionally artillery backup fired for thirty minutes. All firing ceased in a period of .0257 seconds. Guard causalities one hundred percent.

There is nothing I know of that can withstand that kind of firepower. No servant of the Dark Powers can pretend that kind of durability. I have seen Chaos and whatever was here it is nothing ever seen before.

To: Inquisitor Norman

From Interrogator Anges

Chaos cult eliminated in Armageddon planetary sector. Connections to the Imperial Governor have been uncovered. Several high-ranking Administratum officials implicated. I fear this goes much farther, however.

Proceeding with caution.

To: Lord Genral Maximilian

From: Major Ostrander

War zone pacified. Estimate forty-percent of Eldar forces casualties inflicted. Own losses light at sixty percent. Armour is at seventy percent strength. Reinforcements have been dispatched. Proceeding to Cily intervention zone.

To: Lord Solar Tern, Commander of the Eastern Frontier

From: Inquisitor Joura

Do not fear Lord Solar. My retinue has already hunted down the last of the genestealers cults and more Astartes legion are on their way. Concentrate your mind on the task at hand. The Tyranids already fear you and do not engage the might of the Imperium. You have broken them and they will soon flee as all do who reject the Emperor's light.

To Lord Inquisitor Weauys

From Inquisitor Joura

We're all going to fucking die. Tern is panicking and it won't be long before the war crumbles. All the Marine legions are tied up fighting Chaos, Eldar, and anyone else to stupid to fight the 'nids. At least the Tau got eaten.

Which reminds me. Get the Senate to pass the extension on the Reunification Act. The Legions are the only thing keeping us alive out here. Bribe, threaten, cajole, beg, sleep with them I don't care!

Yes I'm trying to 'figure a pattern' out. They don't attack any targets consistently. Just yesterday five reports came in. The whole fleet passed up on three unguarded agro-worlds and slammed into a fortress world, besieged it for ten days and then simply left. If they wanted to link up with the main thrust at Terra there are easier ways of doing it.

No I cannot 'keep in touch better'. We're burning a hundred psykers a day just to have navigation and communication. _You_ fix the Golden Throne and then I'll write more.

To: The People of the Imperium

From: High Ecclesiarich Neyas

My fellow citizen of His Divine Majesty. These are the times that faith is brutally tested. The times who all veneer of boasts and vainglory are swept aside. It is, in some way, the Imperium's darkest hour. It is also the greatest time to live.

In softer times the weak may pass as strong. Brittle faith equal to iron-clad faith. Only now can the true character of yourself shine through. On now can you prove to the Emperor and yourself your mettle.

We are assailed as never before. The weak decrepit xenos invade our worlds. Chaos besieges our very souls, slavering to gain evermore souls of the frail of spirit.

Some yammer about 'The End of Times'. Perhaps it is. If so it is the time of final reckoning. The time of judgment, when all souls stand before the Emperor and plead their lives. When such a thing comes to pass what will you say?

To Brother-Commander Iorni of the Imperial Fists

From Brother-Captain Mertav of the Black Templars

Hail Honoured-Brother! The war against the vile Tyranids goes well. Brother-Captain of the Crimson Fists has destroyed a splinter fleet at Yuvr and Brother-Captain Heinrich of the Soul Swords remains engaged in the Ryelt sub-sector.

Though many have fallen in battle we fight on, faith burning in our hearts. Glory we bring for the Imperium.

Ave Imperator.

To: Fabricator-General Yoi

From Magos Erva

The Golden Throne stands as the greatest accomplishment of the human race. It is far beyond my ability to comprehend, let along repair. Fixes, such as they are, prolong its collapse, it will not arrest it. I estimate two hundred years before it is non-functional.

Praying seems all that we can do now.

To: Grandmaster of the Inquisition Sourvie

From: Lord Inquisitor Maliq

Records removed as per your request. I've sent the data-slates forward on the Oidera insurrection and Aloreux heresies. If I may ask who finally killed that Death Guard warband? Uritv's been hunting them for years.

To Munitorium Staff

From Commissar Ceri

It has been precisely two hundred sixty-seven days since the last time we received re-supply. I know 'there is a war on'. I do not care what the excuse is. I do not care if antiques are all you have left. I next missive will not be an excuse or reason as to why you cannot. _Just get it sent_.

To Colonel Xeria

From Captain Angn

Sir when are we going to be relieved? We have been in constant combat for the last two years. Reinforcements are rare. Supplies are growing thin. Morale is horrible. I asked the commissar to not field execute any of the men. He said he didn't have the ammo for it anyway.

We are in dire straits here, sir. We need support.

To Shadow-Captain Feru

From Brother Sergent Niul

Warboss Gragsmack assassinated. Proceeding to Sedr-Rift Warzone.

To: Lord General Maximilian

From: Crypto-Magos Teolun

Subject: Recovered transmission

Lord I have reconstructed the last message of the _Victory Eternal_. Eighty-three point seven percent was unrecoverable. It does not appear that either her crew or machine spirit survive.

* * *

(Header unreadable, presumed sent to commanding officer)

-yranid forces unending-(static)-port batt- gone. Tri- ill burning(Presumption-Triumph of Will). Count of hundre—illions(Unclear if millions or billions, hope former)-ive ships.

Eighty-fourth batt—lost. Nec- line brok-4 by 24(Most likely 44 by 24, close to their last position. He appears to be speaking of the Necron's line). Losses-ide abo—fity-ent.(Unreadable for twent-one and three eights seconds). Moving all—ed. Can'-et-y.(Klaxons in background. Engine-related) -it! We'v- -eng- one- EMROR POR- THE EMP—TECTS!

End of message.

To: Inquisitor Headquarters on Terra

From: Lord Inquisitor Goerde

Ciconia continues to be a pain. Can you not find a replacement for him? He can't get along with anyone that isn't a Monodominant. Yes I know he gets results but he's version of reassuring people generally involves threats and shooting. He's already threatened to kill several Inquisitors over 'lack of faith'. Raiding parties are an every day occurrence, and some members are feeling the strain.

If you can't get rid of him and you at least send help?

To: Cadian Inquisitorial Headquarters

From: Inquisitor Ciconia

Heretical riots stopped in the capital. Interrogators sent to deal with outbreaks of chaos cults in system. Heretical preachers executed in five districts. Several government administrators found wanting. Will likely need a new governor soon. His mind seems to be cracking. Pity.

This treasonous ranting about the 'End of Times' **will** cease if I must kill ever last one of these lunatics. The Emperor is with us. The only end coming is the end of Chaos. Every day more reports of the Saint of War fighting the Enemy come in. Is not her return prophesied to herald the final battle? The honoured dead will rise and crush the traitors alongside the living.

This defeatist talk only aids the enemy. Any citizen of the Imperium expressing such thoughts will be beaten severely, by me if time permits. If any Inquisitor does so I _will_ execute them on the spot. I do not care how many friends you have or your connections, _**this system will not fall to Chaos**_**.**

To: The Departmento Munitorium

From: Lord Castellan Hirta

Raids from the Black Legion continue. Other warbands have been sighted, the Iron Warriors and World Eaters in particular. Corruption and heresy has also escalated. Government positions are being infiltrated at an untenable rate. Mutants and psykers rates have increased by nearly double since the last report. Requesting additional Inquisitors to deal with this problem.

No large-scale military invasions have occurred, yet. Abaddon seems to be waiting for something. What it is I hope never happens.

To: Lord Militant of the Munitorium

From: Inquisitor Seald

Subject Tyranid Movements

Enclosed with this transmission are the details of the Principle Battle-Fleet Asmodeus. Savant Heriu estimates approximately two hundred billion hive ship enter the galaxy daily. It should be note however that this is a low-end estimate. Necron kills offset about ninety percent of their reinforcements. Over the past three hundred years the size of the fleet is in between two thousand trillion and six thousand trillion.

Necron numbers are mercifully lower, in the low billions. New units arrive on a daily basis. Included pictures and place-names for such. Three new assault class titans identified. Two more confirmed. Subject[Security Clearance Reading... Accepted] code-named 'Nightbringer' seen in sub-sector Alrais. Appearance undergone subtle changes since first recorded. Notably its scythe no long appears to be an extension of its arm but a separate weapon. Unknown why the sudden change.

We will continue to collect data on the conflict.

One hundred eighty-seven years until the Void Dragon awakes.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thus concludes the first sequence of the story. The next arc will be a flashback arc taking place over forty-thousand years before the events of these chapters.

When the next chapter comes out the uncensored version will replace earlier chapters. The story will also be uploaded to Mediaminer and, possibly, DeviantArt.


	11. Here By My Side

Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

Here By My Side

* * *

Pip drifted through unnameable thoughts and sensations. A void of weird colours and alien feelings. It wasn't a bad existence, it _was_ what he wanted. He simply needed to understand the God was overly literal with answering prayers.

Talking with Seras he missed the most. Speaking to her was like conversing with her across a room. Muted words, unheard and cold. The delicate smell and taste of her being surrounded and was so distant at the same time.

Emotions came through perfectly. Support and care, warmth and love he sent to her. At times he could tell that Seras felt alone and worried. Pip happily became a sun to shine for her and only her. It was a pain to be unable to hold her in his arms. Manifesting took so much out of his woman. She couldn't do it for long. But he was with her, it was more that he'd every dreamed of.

So he floated along in the colourless abyss. He felt the tiny strands of strain and exhaustion. He pushed out his smiling emotions. Bright comfort and his unconditional support. A soft pull, then more insistent. Without warning it became a maelstrom. He fought it. It didn't matter. He was ripped free. He careened down the vortex. Blind, reeling helpless Pip struggled vainly against the force. An eternal moment of cold void.

Air.

He gasped for breath, _real_ breath. Eyes blurred. Heart beat. Alive. Flesh twitched. Blood flowed. Alive. Grey fog in front of him. Cold. Something made a sound. He tried to blink. The mass swam in front of him. Another noise. He managed to blink. His vision cleared, a little. He got his arms to twitch. His name, someone was calling him. His head flopped to the side. Seras. She was calling for him. Her hand outstretched she fell to the ground and did not move.

"Seras!" he coughed and willed himself to stand as he twisted over. And slammed head-first into the ground. The hallow pain from his nose shoved at his eyes. He tried to push up. The stone floor mocked him. His arms denied him. _Déplacez! Déplacez les bras stupides!_ A jerk from the muscles in his left. Skittish fright slowly warmed his skin. His heart rumbled. Seras was hurt, he had to get to her.

His left arm suddenly lurched forward. Numbly he clutched at the rock and painfully drug himself closer. The cruel edges scrapped and bit his skin. Cold pain kept him from feeling anything else. _Déplacez déplacez déplacez! _His right arm trembled and jerked. It was like trying to learn how to move all over again. His heart was a hammer and his body the anvil. He tensed both arms and shoved with all that he had. His muscles screamed as they lifted him up. Everything was sore and abused.

Pip crawled over to Seras, rock scraping his knees and elbows. Hot needles into frozen flesh. His flesh was slow, unresponsive. His panic ebbed away. He shivered. It was cold. Painfully, he finally made it to where Seras fell. He touched her. She wore a dark shirt and pants, coated with a thin layer of dirt. Her blonde hair lusterless and pale. The vampire was as cold as death. Pip hoped it was normal. He didn't think she had a pulse. Pip mentally raced around. For warmth and hope. He had no way to check if she was still 'alive', all he could do was wait. Pip forced himself into a sitting position and stopped.

_Where are my clothes?_

* * *

Pip heaved Seras up to carry her. He cautiously opened the wooden door and meekly took a look down the corridor. Empty. Only the dust and shadows watched. _Jusqu'ici si bon_. He frantically attempted to recall the layout of the basement. He never really had been down here before. Pip thought that Seras's room was near the entrance. He'd pray that he didn't run into Alucard or any one else on the way, but wasn't willing to risk it like last time.

He darted out quickly. His tissues and skin more mobile now; not where he'd remembered them, but good enough. He passed doors. He hoped this was the right direction. The last maps he looked at read that Alucard's room was at the far end of the dungeon. It got lighter, good sign. The air got fresher. He padded forward and started trying doors. Empty, empty, empty, water closet. He must be nearby. The next door was definitely her room.

Small coffin in the corner, bed on the other side, it looked new. An oak dresser in between. Cheerfully he bounced in and lie her down in her coffin. It was lined with dirt. It explained the earth on her shirt. His immediate concern taken care of he turned to his own problems. He didn't see anything for him in the open and did not want to rifle through Seras's things to find clothes for himself. Pip settled for wrapping the bed sheet around himself.

There was nothing left but to wait now. Sleep was impossible. He kept thinking on what happened. _How? Maybe Mignonette figured out how to manifest me? _It made as much sense as anything else. Hours and hours alone, Pip's stomach made it very clear that he wanted food, but nothing was available. When Seras woke up, then he'd ask. He tried sleep but his body was a coil. Wound up upon itself the tension sustained itself.

He stared at the wall and zoned out. Pip thought the ambient light went dimmer. A noise. Seras stirred. He moved over and watched her. A grunt, Seras pushed her eyes open. Pip smiled over her.

"Mon amour."

"Good morning Pip."

"It feels like forever."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

"I just have one question." Seras nodded. Pip's face dropped. "Where are my pants?"

She giggled and got up. She opened her cabinet and took out some clothes.

"I had to guess at the sizes. I bought several." she said and handed him the stack. Then she turned around and quietly sat on the bed. Most of the clothes didn't fit well. They were all loose fits. She thought he was bigger than he was.

He sat down by her, wanting to touch her.

"How did you..." Pip stopped. Not certain how to even begin to phrase the question. He settled for looking at his body.

"I saved one of your hairs and..." she waved her hands around, just as unsure what to say, "grew it." She was cold and pale. What did she feel?

"It was painful, so close and so far away." Pip reached out and brushed some of her hair aside. _Elle est parfiat_.

"I've been- It's been so quiet." She still looked down, waiting.

_She's waiting for you, idiot_. Pip kissed her. His hands carefully ran through her hair. Softly, quietly he loved her. She stiffened briefly and relaxed. Seras leaned closer as Pip caressed her.

"Je t'adore" he breathed. She was perfect. He ran his fingers along the back of her neck and to her shoulders. He pressed his lips to her nose, her cheeks and forehead. He reached under the hem of her shirt and pulled up. Only a hastily thrown on white bra clothed her chest.

He gilded across her her back, feeling the tiny hairs flit by. She tensed and jerked away. He went slower, more cautiously. Pip leaned closer, she was so cold. He pulled her into his embrace. Seras threaded her arms around and squeezed.

"I've been so lonely" she breathed. She titled her head and kissed him lightly. His arms encircled her and he kissed back deeply. Achingly his warmth spread to her skin. His fingers still touched, still caressed her. She flinched and jumped as they explored her body. Sensations she could not name brushed by.

His lips moved lower, to her neck. Seras leaned back to let him. Gently Pip lay her down. His hands danced across her lower back. She breathed deeper and her arms slid off Pip's back. He trailed his fingers down her side all the way to her feet. He plucked up her legs and quietly pulled off her pants.

He caressed her legs, kissed her toes. Seras jumped and gasped. _Amour de femmes ayant leurs pieds a embrassé. _Pip smiled and gently rubbed her feet. Seras made soft pink noises. He stroked higher and higher on her legs. A whisper of sensation against velvet skin. A satin touch on her thighs and then he moved to her stomach. There was so much of her he wanted. He needed to have all of her.

He kissed her bellybutton. Kissed his way up her stomach. He avoided her breasts. Some many little boys would have been fixated on them. She deserved to be loved everywhere. His hands flowed across her collarbone. A kiss on her neck made her jump. Pip smiled gently. He nuzzled her neck, licking and brushing her silken skin. She twitched and breathed harder. Her pleasure was all that mattered.

He massaged and kissed her, treated her as such a beautiful woman should be. His touches went lower again, and he reached behind her back and undid the bra clasp. A silent click and both ends pulled away. Seras trembled and her body strained.

Pip had seen her tear through undead, challenge vampire-hunters, brave the darkness with fear. To see her like this was painful. He pressed close, held her tightly.

"I will never hurt you mon amour. Je t'adore. Always." Seras weakly returned the hug. Nervousness tingling from her fingertips. Breath, silence, warmth, solace. Her finger quietly stopped edging into his back. Pip waited until all her fright ebbed away. He caressed her skin, gossamer touches for comfort.

He rubbed her knees, silent across her skin. Patiently he circled up to the edge of her panties. Without answer Seras arched up and let him slide them off. Pip placed them aside and ran his fingers up and down the inside of her legs. Feather-light his hands felt their way down to her.

Soft touches on her center caused her to tense. Pip waited for her to relax before caressing again. He was slow. Letting her enjoy it. _Son plaisir, that is all that matters_. His hands made lazy circles while he kissed her. Pip gave her time to enjoy to feel. He waited until he could no longer wait.

Gently, quietly he entered her. Slow, he wanted her get used to it. He watched her, wanting to know what she liked, how she liked. An easy surge and Seras grunted. Pip kissed her again, tasting her innocence, breathing her in. Another relaxed thrust. He felt her hips against his. She was so different; cold and velvet and so utterly intoxicating. 

He pushed forward and back. His own bliss numbed his mind. His hands stroked the beauty. He wanted her, needed her to cry out in ecstasy. A few tenses and gasps from her. Pip felt the end coming. _La fois prochaine,_ Pip thought as he released, _la fois prochaine._

Pip gently slid away. He raced to catch his breath. Seras curled up in his arms and placed her ear on his chest just over his heart. She lie here, silently listening to his heartbeat. Pip hugged her close. He breathed in the colour of her hair, the small scent of her contentment. His fingers trailed over her back, feeling the velvet of her skin. It got a short squeak from her.

"So perfect, so beautiful" he whispered to her. Seras's mind flew, uncertain on what to say.

"I-uh-You-ah" Pip smiled as she tried to speak,"uh Warm." She blurted out and squirmed closer. He squeezed tighter.

"Je t'adore. Toujours, Mignonette."

"I love you too."

He felt worn and starving, but not ready to move. Silence held a gentle sway for a moment. "Its been empty without you."

"I can liven the place up now."

"Hope so."

"Bet everyone missed me."

"Yeah, they did."

"I should get back to work soon, n'est-ce pas?" A question appeared on Seras's face and then vanished.

"Yeah."

"Guess I should see Integra soon." A pause.

"O-kay."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Correction to previous note on Alucard. He will appear towards the end of this flashback and then again towards the end of the story.

More messages added to 'The Broader Picture'.

The 40k arcs will pick up again with 'Eater of Worlds'.


	12. Hesitate

Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

Hesitate

* * *

"Its November" Seras said "It's ..." she closed her eyes and thought. It had been long since she felt a November. "Its cold" she finished with no certainty.

Pip pulled her close. Gently rubbing his hands up and down on her back. She sagged into his embrace for a moment, lonelier than she believed. "Thank you." A velvet whisper. A brief eternity later she straightened and they continued dressing up.

He got the heavier jackets while Seras contented herself with thinner long clothes. He held her close as they walked from her room out to the first floor.

The biting cold made Pip flinch. A fine coat of dust had settled on the floor. Only a set foot-prints marred the white sheen. The place must have be abandoned. He remember putting a few very large holes in it. Strange that Seras would still stay here alone.

The dust parted slowly. Too long in one place to move freely. "Seras waved at the the main doors and they creaked open. The cold air clamped its teeth into Pip's fingers and would not let go. He pushed forward, to stay with Seras. She strode out, not looking around. Too used to this path.

"A lot of people wanted to hurt her. I had to move her away." She told no-one. Not hurrying, not waiting she walked into the still forest that wreathed Hellsing.

Pip stumbled and bashed his knees as he followed. To his eyes there was no path. Dead leaves and fallen branches littered everywhere. Pip hoped where Integra was it was at least warm. He couldn't feel his toes anymore.

She knew the way too well.

Lost memories, bitter past, delayed hopes.

Seras turned and pointed low. Pip faced and read unthinkingly.

HERE LIES SIR INTEGRA WINGATES FAIRBROOK HELLSING

ALWAYS STRONG

ALWAYS-

He lurched back, the words beating on his eyes. He snapped around to Seras, her eyes deep pools of sympathy.

"How-How..." he couldn't finish.

"Eighty years."

* * *

Pip tried to talk to ask and know more. He couldn't find the words. Seras guided him back from the forest. He payed no attention to anything, lost as he was. Seras buoyed him along until they reached the manor. His scattered thoughts realigned briefly. Just a question formed, but couldn't voice it.

"They knew you were still around. It was hard to let them speak to you. It got ... quiet too fast. Integra... past away a long time ago." Seras looked nowhere.

All his friends everyone he'd even known. Long dead. Faded and almost no-one knew or remembered them. He here was in a strange world with Seras. He'd hoped for more than this.

Seras let him be. He slowly put the shock away. March on, like he always had. They'd walked back into the manor, their new home. By the air temperature, he almost didn't think he had. He cast about, looking for a heater or a switch. Seras groaned

"I have to get the power turned on and the water and ..." More things piled up as they dropped into her thoughts. Seras closed her eyes and started to organize the mess. Pip laced his arm over her shoulder. A brief squeeze and a smile. She leaned into him and exhaled. She hung there for a moment. Ignoring her problems. Then she pushed up. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

First stop was getting a new title to the manor. Which consisted of Seras mesmerizing the bureaucrat into printing her one. After that Seras bought him some food. Seras claimed o be fine and wanted to get it over with anyway. Electricity and water were finished quickly. Payed for by Seras powers, Pip assumed.

They'd walked in London just before dawn, now the light was faded quickly. The cold stabbed through Pip's jacket but didn't complain. Seras kept her head down so the lack of visible breath was not noticeable. Only once they left the edge of the city did she look up. It was pleasant, being with her. Even as cold as it was. He threaded his arm through hers. She moved closer, lost in thought. Pip decided that she needed to talk.

"Seras" he couldn't resist the caress on her name, "why was everything turned off? It should have been left on for you."

"They think I'm dead. Completely dead." She added before the obvious joke. "I wasn't 'acceptable' to the new Convention." She glared off into the distance. Replaying the barbed scenes. Pip squeezed her hand in support. He'd always believe in her. Even if no one else did.

"What about the older ones? They knew you. You saved everybody.

"They sold us out. Blamed everything on Sir Integra. They hurt her as much as the could. To save them selves."

"What happened to them?"

"They got old and died." no venom, no satisfaction. Just a statement.

Pip understood that she didn't want to talk about it anymore and tried to move the conversation to something else. He was only partially successful.

* * *

The manor was still cold when they returned, but the heater could be powered on. It would be some time before the mansion could be walked around comfortably in. Pip was exhausted and felt so alive. Seras lead him down to her room, intending to put him to sleep. She didn't make a sound when he pulled her down with him. Flashes of kisses and soft insistent touches revealed his desires. Seras wound her arms around his and rested her ear against his heart.

"Tired" she said before she bade him to sleep.

* * *

The next day she had to leave. To hunt vampires and ghouls across Britain. So he remained at home. He idled bubbled around. Looking in places he'd not seen. Taking stock of what he could fix and and he could expand on. Later of course. Eventually he found a computer. Seras had had the internet payed for yesterday. He wondered if it still worked. He was bored and had nothing else to try. The dust he cleared out and after a few jabs at the power button it finally turned on.

To his small relief it still 'worked', very slowly and it connected to the internet, despite its age. He ransacked every news site, devouring all that had happened since his death. The world stumbled on like it always had. People tried, lived and died. There were colonies on the Moon and one of Jupiter's moons. Some movement towards FTL drives. Science kept its inexorable pace.

He reached further and further back. A short desire to know how the world reacted after Millennium.

His eye caught a small link, a name he'd heard quietly. Islands. It loaded silently.

**BRUTAL MURDER IN LONDON**

**Islands and household gunned down. **

"RBKC was rocked last night by the brutal murder of Sir Islands and his entire household. Metro reports that at 0330 a gang of thugs brought into the mansion and systematically slaughtered all the inhabitants. No word on the criminals as of yet. Investigations are continuing.-"


	13. The Building Tension

Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

The Building Tension

* * *

He stumbled through other reports. The computer was old and it took time. Few were interested in the past. Nothing more. Pip left it. He had other things to do. Things to think on. Seras probably forgot about about Islands. It would be easier to say they all died of old age than list them. It was likely just some random thug. London was in ruins, the police had other things to do.

_Like protect government officials._

He smashed that thought. Seras made a simple mistake. There were lots of them, she simply forgot one of them. The ugly little doubt wouldn't leave, though it stayed away. Pip was alone in the Manor. They had nowhere to go. No matter where Pip went or how he tried to ignore the gargoyle it was always there, in dark.

When Seras came back Pip was busing himself with dinner. The door crunched open and Seras limped in. Pip went to see her immediately. Hours alone and he wanted her. She looked bad. Mud caked into her hair and the fading cut along her hands and legs painted the desperate last few hours. Her eyes haunted, the kind of awful running around for hours and being shot and beat up could do to someone. He embraced her. She leaned forward, not able to lift her arms.

Gently he lead her to the couch. Seras thumped down next to Pip. Weariness in her eyes kept her from seeing much. Pip wrapped his arm around her. She didn't seem to notice.

"Bad day, non?" She grunted.

"There were a few. Almost got seen a few times. Hid in a basement." She leaned her head against Pip. Seras waited, content to do nothing. He let her. She had a harder day than he had. Fingers rubbed her shoulder.

"Alright now, with me" and pulled her closer. Seras titled over and listened to his heart beat. She did nothing for a few minutes. Pip smiled at the feeling of her against his chest. Happy to be with her. He touched and stroked her neck. She relaxed more, enjoying the moment.

Pip waited for her to collect herself. The quiet noise of skin upon skin the music that slowly wound her down. For her it was a long awaited time where she could do nothing. Seras eventually pushed herself up.

"Thank you" She buried herself in the crook of his neck. Pip pulled her legs across him so she was sitting in his lap. She hadn't fallen asleep yet, she was still breathing. She spoke after a minute.

"We never really got to talk much before... How did you join the Geese?" He looked at her and smiled. Such an innocent girl.

"I joined when I was sixteen. It was where my father and grandfather went when they were that age. I was the nobody of the company." A distant smile came to him. He got hazed and razed almost everyday for a month. Until after the first battle then he was a Wild Goose. For Seras his memories were an adventure she'd never seen before. To him an old past, worn with time; shinier and more pleasant than when he first lived.

Seras listen with rapt gaze. There time had been bitterly short. It was new and different, his life. This something unseen. Pip told most of his stories, she didn't need to know about the prostitutes. Tales of the stupid things they did. Remembrances of men who didn't come back. Stories about all of them now. With six feet of earth to their names.

He wanted to get away from the dark path. He was here, with the woman he loved. The woman he'd given his life for. Seras, so perfect and innocent. She must have had a better life than him. Before her his life was nothing more than than loose change. What was she like when she lived?

"Mon amour," he ran his fingers through her hair, Seras closed her eyes, "How do you find your way to being a police officer?" She looked away, a shroud over her face.

"My father was a cop. I wanted to be like him. To protect someone." Her own past, shared with no-one, played for her eyes alone. Pip traced her ear. Her life as alien to him as his to her. "That's all I wanted."

"How did it go?"

"On my first day I died."

"Oh." _Change the subject._ "How was it before? In school?"

"Never got along with anyone. People broke the rules. I got moved to new schools all the time."

"You've got me now." Seras nuzzled closer. Glad for the solace in her life.

"I know." She closed her eyes and just breathed. Pip caresses got lower, past her neck and to her shoulders. Seras's mouth opened a little, her breathing got deeper. He ran his thumb and index finger on either side of her shoulder. She relaxed farther. Looking like she was going to fall asleep soon. He traced down her body. Seras opened her eyes and started to wake up.

"It must have worried your parents-"

"No, it didn't." Shocked, he briefly put aside the question.

"What did you do after school?"

"Stayed away from everyone else."

"Any friends?"

"Not really."

"Your parents weren't worried about that?"

"I'm tired" she said tonelessly and left for the basement. Pip threw his head back in exasperation. Talking to her was going to be a long project in and of itself.

* * *

Seras was already asleep by the time he got to their room. When he woke up she was gone. If he could manage to speak to her he would try and get her to stop doing that. With nothing to do, _again_. Those dark thoughts would not leave him be. Everything he started he finished to quickly. That ugly little gargoyle taunting him all the while.

Inevitably he went back to his computer. Finding out about the present, and past, would let him evade his doubts for a little while. It still worked, though he knew not for how long. He read the news sites, the current news he force himself to read. Boring politics and meaningless fighting. Names of people he didn't care about prattling on about things he'd never bothered to be concerned about even hundred years ago. Unbidden and unconsciously his inquiries went farther and farther back in time.

Here he was again. Just after his death. Just after when everything fell apart. _And when people started dieing_. He hit that thought, but he already heard it. The worries were harder to ignore. It wasn't going the way he'd thought that their lives would be going. Things were too difficult. It was supposed to be better than this.

And now he gazed into the eye of his problem.

He made excuses as to what he was really looking for. That his fingers were searching for absolution and not damnation. He trusted her, that's why he was doing this.

To prove his trust.

Because that's what lovers did. Trust the other.

He lied to himself that he wouldn't find anything else. That it of course, was just a collection of street thugs that murdered Islands, his staff and all the trained bodyguards he had. That made more sense. Seras didn't have it in her to do that. She was such a sweet innocent girl. She was only violent when people deserved it. _Like betraying her_. He wanted to shatter that thought, needed to push back.

He couldn't.

The emptiness spread out. He desperately tried to fill it with the nothing he found in the past.

He failed.

Sir Robert Walsh Murdered.

Sir Walsh was found murdered at the corner of Fifth and Evergreen. A robbery gone wrong the suspect fled before an ID could be made.

Police are baffled as to why anyone would target Sir Walsh as he dressed plainly and his wallet was untouched.

Details as the investigation continues.


	14. Shatter

Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

Shatter

* * *

Pip did nothing. He stopped thinking and looked away from it all. He wandered, the gargoyle silent for no length of time.

_Two murdered. Convenient she forgot._

_She probably didn't care about any of them. Just wish they'd all die._

_Won't talk about the past, won't talk to you at all._

_She under a lot of stress._

_You're just charity. She feels sorry for you and nothing else._

_It's difficult for her._

_Lying to yourself._

Pip crushed the thoughts, but they still remained. He struck out and headed to the kitchen. He mashed together a small dinner. He wasn't in the mood to make anything complicated. Nothing around had been used in ages so he didn't think anything in here would work anyway. Minor miracle that the refrigerator functioned.

A small click. Pip almost hadn't noticed it. Seras quietly swept towards the basement. Already feeling unwelcome. He went to her. Determined to end his own doubts. He smiled, a lie on his face. She stopped when she heard him walk to her. She turned around, she looked worse than before. A bruise on her face and a gash on her arm.

"What happened?" She looked down, unable or unwilling to meet his eyes.

"I ran into some hunters. Two of them died." She gripped her arm tighter. The pain was welcome.

"Its alright Seras, you're alive." It didn't help her mood. "Let's find some bandages." Taking her by the shoulders he guided her to the old hospital installed near the former barracks. Dust and the past coated the floor. Both undisturbed until now. The first aid kits were still neatly packed in the places he'd remembered them. No-one needed them until now.

He cracked one open. Tossed out the things that were not bandages and started to wrap up Seras's arm. Seras sat without a word. She did not look like she was going to speak. So he tried

"What happened?"

"I was hunting a vampire. He was about to attack a group of hunters. I got him and the hunters chased after me. I missed one." She stopped, remembering the face, the last accusation before his life ended.

"It's okay mignonette, can't always work out." He started wrapping the cloth around her arm. She ignored him.

"I tried to get away. He slashed my arm." She lowered her head, the last only a whisper. "Trying to help." She flinched as Pip pinned the cloth down and bound it with gauze.

"I's alright. The cut not too deep. Lean a little away will help."

"_My arm is fine._" Pip recoiled. It was hard not to fire back.

"I'm just giving advice."

"Then just listen to me!"

"I am listening" Seras glared at him.

"Just-" she stopped, not caring, "I didn't want this. He wouldn't just go." She hunched up tighter, trying to smother the memory.

"It's alright Seras, not everything goes like we want it to. Just have to accept it." It wasn't what she wanted to hear. She gave up trying. Unhappy to keep her bladed misery to herself. Pip waited and fiddled with the wrappings. Seras continued to be silent and Pip decided to get her speaking again.

"Why did you decide to stay here? Someone might have looked here."

"It's home. Integra passed it through a few holdings, no-one knows I have it."

Home, an abandoned mansion where only the dead lived. Alone for fifty years.

"What did you do for all that time.?"

"Hunt vampires. Research how to bring you back." Seras exhaled. Thinner, fonder memories.

"Nothing else? You must have had someone to talk to at least."

"No."

_Talkative as ever_. Dark whispers in his head.

Conversation that involved just about anything were dwindling fast. She didn't want to talk about anything and he didn't have much experience in this new world.

"How have things been in the world since I died?" She shrugged

"Don't know."

_And that's it for everything I know to do_. He sat down by her and waited, hoping she'd bring something up. He would wait for almost half-an hour before the dripping of blood made him speak.

"Your arm's still bleeding."

"It will."

"Is there anyway to stop it?"

"I'll find some blood later." She looked away, wanting to sleep. Pip looked around the area. He hadn't seen any blood bags earlier when he searched the kitchen. The hospital would be the next logical place, but it clearly hadn't been used in decades.

"Where do you put it? I'll get it." She squirmed.

"I-I don't leave it here. No power." A dark thought began to swirl in Pip's head.

"Where is it?"

"Not here, I get it." Seras whispered. She twisted about, cut on her morals. His own little gargoyle played havoc in his mind. He blurted out its thoughts before he wanted to.

"You don't-?" He regretted the question when it lanced into Seras. Her eyes widened, she recoiled.

"You want to know! _Fine_! I STEAL IT! I ROB BLOOD BANKS! HAPPY!"

"You won't tell me anything! What was I supposed to think?"

"That I wouldn't kill people!" Those dark thoughts came back, but he refused to listen to them. Seras growled and turned away. Pip burned on the silence.

"Sorry." It sounds pathetic to him. _I should try to make her feel better. _"I didn't mean it." Nothing from Seras. "I haven't seen you much." He put his arm around her. Seras didn't moved or react. "I just want to make you happy." He kissed her ear.

And she pushed away.

He tried to not get exasperated. Nothing worked with her. "Is there some reason you are so reluctant to be held?"

"Don't like it."

"Am I so bad?"

"No."

"You can talk to me Seras. I'll always be here for you."

"I did tell you." She crushed her eyelids down and mashed her fists into her face.

"And I heard you."

"No you didn't." _I'm not going to play this silly game._

"I care about you Seras. Being by you is all I've every wanted." He tired to put a spark of those red feelings that bound him to her in his voice. He started put his hand on her shoulder.

And she pushed him away again.

"You don't listen! You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"I do listen! And-"

"No you don't! You're always grabbing me! I'm just a skirt to you!"

"You're more than that to me!"

"Every time I come back you keep groping me!"

"_I do not gr-_"

"You grab me every time I walk in! It doesn't matter to you what happened to me!" _That's it._

"I do care! I worry every minute I'm stuck here! Wondering if your alive or dead!"

"I can't take you along! It's dangerous!"

"I'm a soldier! I did it all the time!"

"And you died!"

"For you!"

"_I didn't want you to die!_"

"It was worth it!"

"_And you left me alone!_"

"_You survived! That's all that mattered!_"

"_You don't care about me! It's all about you!_"

"_You're all I've thought about since I've meet you! You run off without saying anything to me!_"

"_You won't listen to anything I say! I try to talk to you and you ignore me!_"

"_I listen to you everything to decide to come back!_" Both took their cruel frustrations and lashed out with them. No longer caring, just wanting to hurt less.

"FINE!" The last word screamed out. Neither remembered to word it had been. The silence and emptiness after Seras stormed out after made no comment.

* * *

He stomped though the mansion. Anything light and decrepit was kicked. Dust and ancient heirlooms the only witnesses to his tirade

_Why would a worthless mercenary like me ever get anything good? _He didn't bother turning on lights. It felt better in the dark. It suited his mood more. Nothing ever went right. Why should now be any different? It was still cold. He swore that Seras must have broken the heater to get back at him. He smashed through the offices until he found one with a fireplace. The room, of course had nothing to burn.

Pip careened through another room and found a filing cabinet. He tore through the ancient metal bin. This juvenile destruction was the acid he needed to burn the loathing and bitterness he felt. He wanted something to do. To just be angry. To have anything to do but stared at the walls. He smashed through the old ledgers and notes. He'd have something to burn for heat later.

In the back of the cabinet were the minutes to the Conventions meetings.

* * *

Author's Notes:

In light of a new codex written by Matt Ward, May He Die In A Fire, I will only be using material published before fifth edition BBB as canon for 40k. I will not use material from an author worse than I, and I am bad.

On a more positive note: Level 41 in Space Marine! (Chris_Stork on Steam if anyone's interested.)


	15. Reunite

Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

Reunite

* * *

Pip stared at the blank tome. Its description and the dates. Nothing more.

He tried to open it.

It repelled him each time.

He'd reach out and the strength left him.

And when he brought his hand back, the rabid desire to hurt stormed in his veins.

He took it from he cabinets and moved to the old barracks. There had been a fireplace there and it was the one place that still had a working heater. He piled up a collection of old and rotting ledgers and accounting books and burned them for heat. The flickering lights made the whole room move. People long dead watched he without noise. Viewed his silent torment at the universes hands.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Things were supposed to be better than this. It was... it was...

It was just supposed to be different. There wouldn't be any fighting. To support her, his hand on her side and a whisper in her ear. To have her each night, to just be. They were just supped to be happy.

And that book kept taunting him. All his fears could be real, all he had to do was open it, and he would know. A light to banish the darkness. Dispel his doubts. To know, the bitter poison.

And if he found something against her, then what? Accuse her of it? Demand something? Make her sorry over the deaths of people who abandoned her? Even in the depths of fantasy the delusion was unrealistic.

And if he didn't how could he face her? That he though her capable of slaughtering defenseless old men. Believing that she'd lied to him. That he'd been kept only for the sake of an obligation and not love.

And if he never looked? Would the questions just fade into the aether? Could he really take and bury them? Pretend they'd never been? Turn a blind eye to anything that didn't line up perfectly with what Seras said? Could he spend the rest of his life unworried and blankly smiling?

He beat his head against the table. Why wasn't anything simple! He tried to reason his way out of this, but rigid lines and angles couldn't evade the book in front of him. He took both sides and ground it back and forth on the table. A stupid thought: if he destroyed it he wouldn't have this conversation anymore.

He wished he'd never found it.

He wished he'd never turned on that stupid computer.

He wished he'd never come back.

He didn't have doubts or worries or any thoughts beyond the distant warmth that was Seras.

He was better off then.

Just another worthless mercenary.

His life only worth a handful of change.

And she'd brought him back anyway.

Him, a soldier for hire that was pushed into this life before he was born. He'd never fought for anything unless paid to. Never cared about what he was fighting for or against. Seras picked him, a woman who chose her life to stop people like him.

He could open the book, cast aside the curtain and see Seras as she is, miserable in knowing or turn around and smile dumbly at the walls, happy in ignorance.

He made his decision.

He picked up the book.

And threw it in the fire.

_I'd rather be happy than right._

* * *

Pip stumbled back down to the basement, broken from his chioce. He'd make it right with Seras.

Somehow.

The bed was cold and empty. He collapsed onto it. He of nowhere else she might return to. Day was failing and the night would rise triumphant in a few hours. Where ever she'd gone she'd eventually return here.

If she came back.

The shadows mocked him. The screaming argument echoed in the silence. Words he'd said, not meant but felt anyway, cackled at him. Alone in the basement, hoping that the injuries caused but careless words were not too much.

_If she comes back._

The meager light the sun gave off dwindled. His thoughts followed it. Would she come back? Seras always confronted her problems. But she never had one this close to her before. She hit her problems and he wasn't something she could fix by violence.

His thoughts circled; lower and lower. Had it been enough to push her away forever? Nothing he could for it now. The helplessness earned from so many battles aided him nothing here. He was thinly in control then, his actions could still effect the future. Now he'd done everything he could and all he could do now was wait.

Despair took his awareness, and the night took him.

* * *

Pip woke up when something touched him. Seras drew back her hand. He couldn't see her face. She was trembling, dwelling a place far darker than Pip. It took her a moment to start speaking.

"When I was little" A pause of unneeded breath, "Two people broke into my home and killed mom and dad."

The memories hacked out by Pip's careless question dripped with the blood of pain. Pip flinched, his casual pokes and prods at her past echoing in his head. He crunched up and whispered out a soft apology. Pip lent his arm and pulled her closer. She pushed back a little, not done. Her last pain almost out. "I-I-I tired to stop them, th-they shot me." More gasps, more pain. "I-I-I watched as-as h-he tore off m-mom's c-c-clothes-"

_Oh merde._

No words, he held her as tightly as he could. But no warmth from or closeness would ever cover the memories. Whispered apologies. He never meant to hurt her. Never meant to put her through this. Meaningless, helpless words in the crying, but he would whatever needed, whatever he could to help her.

He felt Seras's pain, and knew his own. The kind that he could never be healed, for it was not his. No word or deed of his could ever help Seras. He would watch her struggle and couldn't help.

He saw his future and it was a live of certain distance. Unable to help the woman he loved.

* * *

Things were better, only marginally so, but better after that.

Seras still went out to save those that hated her. Pip attended her as best as he could. Listening to her, holding her and trying to make her feel better. It was not what he wanted, not what he dreamed of; but it was what he had.

He still explored the manor, it was theirs now. The few heaters he could access he'd cleared of dust and grime. Home was stating to be livable again. Only a few parts of the night that his breathe was visible. Pip had even managed to convince Seras to move to the stairs rooms. Non-one knew she lived. She didn't need to hide in basements anymore.

The old records and papers he threw elsewhere, the past was dead, Pip left it buried. It was on one of the trips that he found the letter in the kitchen. When he'd left after lunch it hadn't been there. The dust hadn't been moved much from just his passing and no only person could have come in. The letter was in an obviously new envelop, with a clean address to just 'Seras'.

Mildly worried he left it there for Seras to look at. When she returned and saw it she said:

"It's from Alucard."

* * *

Author's Notes: Addendum made to chapter 12: Additional news items Pip found. Will be important next chapter.


	16. Onto the Starry Future

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano and others. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

Onto the Starry Future

* * *

They both walked together.

Pip walked behind Seras. The spaceport looked identical to the airports he'd known in life. After a moment he realized that the port still served its old function. Seras moved not with purpose, but with old certainty. They walked by the people shuffling off for the worn airplanes off to the slower, newer launching pads.

The crowds thinned out. A new coat of paint on the walls. A pattern that did not quite match. The future growing out of the past. The numbers here were fewer. The first cautious steps into a new world. A place for those who would take that step.

Pip idly took stock of the people there. A young couple, doubt in their eyes and poise in their hands. A middle-aged man, uncaring about the future or past, just wanting to go to work. A young girl, a dream in her eyes, fulfilled at last. An old man, broken and desperate, whose time had long since come and-

_Kick me while I'm down Frenchman. _

Pip stared in blank awareness as Alucard spoke to him and stood up. The last eighty years had destroyed him. The unholy light in his eyes had long since grown cold and died. His shoulders leaned forward, pressed down by failure. The violence the dark prince had enjoyed ended him. Integra had been all that kept him going, without her what her grandfather started was now complete.

Alucard was dead in every sense of the word. Far more so than even a vampire could be. Every fight he'd lost. Everything he'd laid claim to taken from him. All that was left was the knowledge that he had nothing else to be stripped from him. But he knew that even that comforting light would be taken from him in the end, somehow.

Alucard glanced at Pip briefly, a look of cruelest acid and a ripping groping desire. Pip had all that Alucard every dreamed of: a woman who loved him in spite of all that he was. Pip moved closer to Seras. He didn't think that Alucard would attack him, but with him, who knew? The demons returned to Alucard's soul and he faced Seras.

"I am leaving this world, forever." Seras did nothing to even acknowledge him. "There is nothing left but memories I can no longer tolerate." She just watched, not sure if she was sure she knew what to say or do. He glanced back to Pip for an instant. Alucard lacked the energy to summon those bitter jaded emotions again. He wanted to say something but addressed Seras. "Goodbye Seras, may we meet among the stars."

"Goodbye" she managed to whisper.

He turned to the boarding platform and vanished in the crush. They stayed and watched the shuttle launch, the violent fury the apex of what Alucard had once been. Seras stared as the rocket faded from even her view. She knew that she would never see him again.

Seras didn't bother call a cab. She didn't bother looking at the other people. Didn't speak to even Pip. Unhurried and empty she walked all the way home. Pip didn't say anything, afraid of walking into another landmine. Seras stared straight ahead, neither seeing or knowing. The world passed them by. People running, playing in the snow. Colours and light, Seras focused on nothing. Unable to tell if her thoughts were scattered or collected.

London passed behind them. A new unfamiliar world. The dark, cold but worn walk to home was when Pip took his chance at words. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." As lost as Alucard.

"Did you want to say anything else to him?"

"I don't know."

"Do you miss him?"

"I don't know."

Alucard had killed her, turned her into something unspeakable and without him she would be long dead without Pip at her side. Alucard was an element in her life she could never reconcile. A dark hateful thing she had needed. Once she joined Hellsing she made as many friends as she could. A desire to replace the family she lost. Time slowly took them one by one. She had Pip and that was all she had now.

The door creaked open. Weightlessly she walked to their bedroom. Pip tried different questions. Questions about the manor. They fell into the void. She had only Pip left and somehow he would go to. Like everyone else. Pip kept bouncing along determined to do something. To drag her from the dark place she was in.

"Go" not even a whisper.

"What?"

"Go and leave. "

"Seras-"

"Everyone leaves me."

"That's not-"

"You'll leave me too."

He did the only thing he thought he could do. He kissed her to stop her from taking that dark path. She fought briefly, upset and desperately, but she was so tired. She stopped pushing, stopped fighting and relaxed into him. Her arms circled his body and she held him close. A soft eternity later he broke the kiss.

"I'll be with you until time ends." He brushed her cheek with his hands. All the solace he knew how to give. Seras pressed closer, embracing him. "I will never leave you. I'll always be here."

"Thank you. Thank you." Not even a whisper. She waited some minutes before speaking again.

"My s-shoulders hurt. Could you rub them?"

"Of course." Seras turned around and Pip gently massaged her abused body. She felt like a cold rock that show melted at his warmth. She drew in unneeded air.

"My back hurts too."

"Anything." His eternal promise. Pip's hands circled lower. Deftly soothing almost a century of accumulated sores and pains. He felt the movement of her lungs quicken and deepen. A grunt. Not having the sharp wheals and jabs of momentary necessity a wonderful sensation. His thumbs traced patterns he hoped she'd like. Anything to make her happy.

"A-A little lower" and asked as she laid down on there bed. Pip shifted off to her side and pushed down firmly on the muscles of her back. A trembled on her arms and a flinch in her face. Different from all her life had known. Pip was careful and slow. An echo in his chest told him she would not understand or forgive even an accident now.

"I'm cold. Can you?" Unspoken and understood Pip laid down with her and held her tightly.

* * *

New Year's. Cast out the old and embrace the future. Slowly closer to the other. Slowly knowing their loves more. Their tranquility would soon be consigned to the fire. Neither would ultimately object.

Pip fixed and replace broken equipment and failing walls in the manor. Taking pieces from places never used to make the places they were better. Pip continued his Internet searches, but never looked more than ten years in the past. He could nothing for it anyway, why bother?

Science became his new favorite subject. The building of off-world colonies, starships and discoveries of things unknown. A new article, buried distantly on a website, caught his eye and mind:

**BREAKTHROUGH IN SPACE FLIGHT**

**DISCOVERIES MADE BY PHYSICIST EMIR KEREM**

**ALLOW THE FIRST FASTER THAN LIGHT DRIVES**

**Governments pledge to increase space exploration**

**cont' nex**

His mind flew at the possibilities. Things that could only be imagined in books. He had the very real chance of doing them. Nearly tripping over his chair he raced to the workshop where Seras was making bullets and sharping her knives. She did not have the same reaction to the news.

"AHH!" she groaned, "Nooo."

"Whats wrong mignonette?"

"If there's more ships I can't keep vampires off them all!" she pounded the desk. "There haven't been many. The other agencies and I could get them before they left" she ground her fists into her eyes. "I thought I had more time." Pip put his arm around her shoulder.

"Can't chase them across the stars, non?" Pip moved closer and sat by her, "we'll think of something. Stow-away on a ship?"

"Won't need to, I'm" Seras fidgeted. "um-I'm rich." She curled up on herself.

Pip felt like the walls had started talking to him. He waited, hoping for an explanation.

"Well some of the vampires have money, sometimes criminals do." She waved her hands around. "Its like a wage. But I don't really need anything." She stared at the wall "and I just kind of know what's a good idea to invest in and what isn't so I just put it all away."

She kept stumbling on worried that Pip would be upset. She wanted to find the right words. "and so it just sits there and there's a lot of it and I don't really need any of it." Money had been what he bet his life for. Seras didn't know how he'd react to having a lot of it now. She'd meant to tell him but it had been forgotten in their reunion.

Dumbfounded Pip stared for a moment and then kissed her. A short laugh, there were no words with her. She exhaled. Ready to face the immediate problem. They could chase vampires across the stars. An eternal hunt. A never ending race. Running in circles until the stars grew cold.

"So we can follow. Can you tell where they are?" Seras groaned.

"No. Not really." The race a sick joke. Vampires spreading eveywhere. Not able to find them until it was too late. All the work of Hellsing undone in a matter of years. "We have to do something!" Seras almost screamed. Her whole life had been fighting. To have problems she couldn't lash out at turned the violence inside. Pip hugged her shoulders.

"I'll stay here and find something. You keep killing vampires and we'll both get through this." Seras relaxed, then straightened. It was a path. A hope she'd gladly take. A few decades would be enough. Time to get something working.

It was summer when Pip found the solution. Buried in Val Helsing's old journals the man had discovered a way to 'mark' undead. Seras was beaming at the discovery.

She tore through the spell. Its price made it clear why the man never used it. For every vampire marked the caster heart would stop beating for a second. A way out. Their road may never end but they had the other. Never to find rest. It meant never seeing home again. A lifetime of through the cold universe together.

What else could they want?

**t**

* * *

Author's Notes:

And thus ends the first flashback arc. The 40K part returns with 'Eater of Worlds' Do note that there will no longer be a censored version. So if I'm suddenly banned all my works are on the DevaintArt page linked as my homepage.

If there are any 40Kers around yes Emir Kerem is who you think he is.


	17. Into the Maw

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.  
Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: The Song of Hate  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 8 237.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Into the Maw  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 08274902136593165091.20398498-5  
*Thought For The Day: Even A Man With Nothing Can Still Offer His Life

* * *

My brothers, do not make the mistake of thinking yourselves _prepared._

I have stared into the face of our ruin, and it is not a face. It is a mouth.

A mouth containing a billion teeth, and each tooth is a living thing, and each living thing is a horror built only to kill, and when the mouth closes it shall not be to honour the supreme Emperor, or sue for peace, or discuss terms. It shall be to swallow our Imperium whole.

We call them Tyranids as if they're a _race_; another xenos clan to be faced-down and cleansed. In the face of horror we cling to our sciences, out labels, little realising they do nothing but drown us.

We'd do better to call them a disease. There is no better analogy.

I've seen the hive ships, brothers. Barbed horrors scuttling forth to kill, bloated vermin writhing back to be absorbed, their bellies full. I've seen the forests picked-clean of life. I've seen the biofleets draining the waters of teeming worlds, the vortex-mouths guzzling the prairies. I've seen the shadows moving in the warp, the tentacles stretching out of the darkness beyond the Eastern Rim.

This is the End of Times, brothers. Death approaches, and it is not at the hands of a ravening hoard nor an army of contemptible aliens. Our enemy is a single intellect. A single gestalt consciousness, more ancient than we can conceive, more massive than we can measure, a single mind that has not one body, but a trillion. An all-seeing eye that has no shape and no form. How can we fight such a thing?

I will tell you: Until the last breath.

If we can delay that great maw from closing around us, then we will have achieved what countless Empires, countless worlds, countless galaxies, have not.

I say this not to terrify you. I say it simply so you understand, simply so you do not waste your time with such luxuries as hope.

There _is_ no hope. The Great Devourer is upon us.

Let us see how long we may restrain her jaw.

-Inquistor Kryptmann addressing the Congresium Xenos

* * *

He had to hurry, the Saint must know!

Brother Svalik's boots crashed on the floor, disturbing the ancient solace of the hallway. This part of the ship was Her's. Few ever went here, the holiness of her sanctum a greater buffer than any kill-zone. The echoes crashed around, shattering the peace and tranquility. She likely knew of his coming by now. But she was the Saint of War, She would already know of his coming.

The hallways changed presence, from the great tapestries describing the victories of the Order, banners of the re-founding on Holy Terra and its greatest honours, all the teeming undead cut down over the millennial to solemn candles and quiet shrines to those who fell in the Emperor's name.

Unconsciously he slowed, awed and weighted down by the ancient and hallowed air. A voice in his head told him he trod on sacred ground and that he was fouling it merely by being there. His breathing quickened, this was a place for those holier than he. He resolved to offer penance on the coming battlefield for his trespass. He stepped lighter, more carefully.

At the end, her private sanctuary. A tremble ran through his body. He faced the most horrible of xenos, killed traitors without pause and even battled the vile undead and this shook him more than anything he could have believed. Svalik placed his hand upon the Glass of Entrance and recited to Litany of Opening. The massive doors clicked open and slid apart.

He saw her sitting on the far side of the room, her back to him. He knelt immediately at the entrance.

"Svalik?", he heard her ask.

"Communications have received a distress call from the Holy Fleet at the Cily intervention zone Holiness. The Holy Fleet orbiting the planet is broken. The Shadow has obscured the message badly. We are the only ones who heard."

She paused before giving her answer.

"Ready the Order. Advance at all speed."

"Yes, Beati."

He sprinted off, anxious to deliver her Will.

* * *

_Cily_. Almost another life. A better life. with Pip. They were married there. Under crystal sky and roses. The endless race ended there. The Tyranids would kill and consume everything on the world. _No, I will not let it happen!_

Seras pushed out into the void. She could feel it, the demented consciousness that the entire race had. The Hive Mind. No thoughts, no feelings, no desire beyond eating. The shrieking, crazed need to devour everything and everyone echoed in the vast oceans of the Immaterium. She knew it distantly through reports of the shadows beyond the edges of the galaxy. A thing that stripped entire world to slake its gluttony.

It would not have Cily. It would never take something of hers. Not now, not ever.

Something behind the cacophony. Another war. Seras concentrated. She could fell it. The crash and thunder. She could not see them, but she knew them anyway.

The first of the Four. Its blood-soaked axe. Armoured in brass, its rage powered it onward.

The Second, ethereal and cunning, always seeking, always planning.

The Third, bloated, and diseased flesh underneath the pus and slime of its excrement.

The Last, willfully disfigured flesh with its perverse symbols craved into it.

They were driven against just one man. A warrior armored in gold, wielding a sword of fire and a hand of lighting fought them all. She wanted to be there, to do some meaningful, to end the madness. But she there was nothing she could do.

Seras brought herself back into her room. She had a few moments to herself. Enough time to remember. The name Cily conjured up memories she wanted to relive again. She stood up and walked to one of cabinets. She rummaged through her things, the video-crystals, the holo-picts and artifacts of an age long dead. At last Seras found what she sought. She seized a blood-red crystal and brought it to her chest.

Pip had loved these things, every new technological gadget he bought and used until it either broke or he got bored. Seras traced the lines on it, turning it on.

"Marche, stupid thing." a voice that Seras would never truly hear again.

This was the first Pip had gotten. Light spread above the crystal, painting an image, an upside-down Pip.

"What's that?", Seras heard her younger self ask.

"This, mignonette, this is the new Sycon image-crystal recorder", Pip said his voice filled with pride.

The image panned to her bemused younger self.

"You do know you're holding it upside-down, right?"

Seras watched, remembering the exact time, the exact place of the recording. She watched, wishing for things that could never be, uncaring of the tears the streamed down her face.

* * *

Beyond the serenity of Seras's room the whole of the _Song of Hate_ was a flurry of action and noise. Weapons were cleaned, loaded, sanctified and prepared. Pilots ran to their fighters and awaited launching, assault troops and ships were loaded into the bays. Officers gathered maps devouring them for plans. The bridge was a maelstrom, orders shouted, co-ordinates read off, ensigns rushed about inputting data and reciting litanies.

Thoedus watched the holo-chart. Cily system had seven planets. One outer planet was on the far side of the system. He stored that information. It might prove to useful, it might not. One meager planet first from it star was near Cily. Cily itself was the second closest to it sun. The last four were much farther out providing cover for the Splinter Fleet. The hive ships could not approach Cily without hours of forewarning.

Every half-minute the feeler-probes refined the image. They advanced at all speed. No other Imperial ship could mach Hellsing for speed. Not even close. The blips that orbited Cily itself became less blurry. They had a full listing of all ships sent to the intervention zone. Even if all the blips were Imperial, less than a quarter survived.

Whatever remained they still fought. Trapped by the Shadow, their last message unheard except to Hellsing, they still fought. Every ping cleared the field. IFFs could be made out.

"Sister Reglus, adjust the course by plus point 3 degrees and prepare to drop out of Warp."

"Yes Commodore."

He looked over to the chart, Dropping this close to a gravity well could destroy any ship. The Dark Age technology the Song of Hate and all her escorts were forged from had long since eradicated that problem. He needed to wait until the last second. The Hive Mind knew he was there. Giving it little time to react to anything he would do was his best option.

The battle inched closer. A contact flared out. The _Iron Hammer_ struck its last. Even dead it killed three hive ships. Ticking the seconds by, closing as much as he dared.

"Drop."

And the world went mad.

Klaxons screamed out. Point defences roared to life. Main batteries tore out bright chunks of the black night. Torpedoes shot across the darkness and ripped into the obscured things. Fighters shrieked out of the bays, the bombers chugging along after.

"Get me comms to the Fleet." A rapid click of intonation of the machine spirits.

"Done, Brother-Commodore."

"Imperial Fleet, this is The Song of Hate_. _We are coming to your aid." A crackle and a response.

"-or, who sent you?"

"The Emperor. What is your status?"

"All ships heavily damaged, boarders on all of us. Almost out of munitions."

"Launch pods at the ships, cleanse orders. Ready Thunderhawks for planetary assault."

More ships tried to contact him, shouts and thanks and praise, but he did not listen to them. He was focused solely on the task at hand. The Tyranids did not break, did not fear. They just moved to combat the new threat. Smaller escorts flanked the cruisers that screened the hive ships. The smaller bio-ships would move to block all the weapons directed at the synapse links. This battle was over. Already bloodied the bio-ships would merely send back all that he did to kill them.

The Hive Mind would learn. It would adapt to everything he did, learn from its mistakes. Do everything to destroy all assembled against it. It would employ every tactic, any strategy to crush the Imperial fleet and consume the world below. It would throw countless hordes against them, employ subtle misdirection and overwhelming force to attain its goal.

By the end of the siege it would learn that he was better in all ways.

"May He guide you." he blessed the warriors sent to battle the creatures.

The torpedoes reached their targets. Spore fields intercepted few, many smashed into the side of the organisms. Bio-ships bleed out in the void. Hunks of flesh tore from the bloated masses. Fighters cut threw the fields, hammering the anti-ordinance measures for the bombers. The ships kept fighting. There was no change in their behavior. Caught in the crossfire all the ships would be killed. The Hive Mind viewed them as expendable as bullets. Every action taking against them paid for itself with information. The beleaguered fleet emptied the last of their weapons and the bio-ships died, their mission accomplished.

"Hail the fleet again comms, take us to orbit, assault pattern." A moment "Captain, what is the situation on the planet?"

"Umm, its-its Ensign actually, the captain's dead. A 'stealer got in."

"Their souls are with the Emperor now."

"We lost contact with Hive City Seventeen an hour ago. They should still be holding."

"Co-ordinates?"

"Yes sir, uh 23.06 by 12.56."

"The other cities?"

"All gone sir."

"Acknowledged. Launch the assault force at those co-ordinates."

* * *

_It's hopeless_, thought trooper Hensen as he fired another shot.

The outer wall was breached, the Tyranids had overrun the other cities, and the fleet was broken. The Emperor had abandoned them. If he stayed he die. Like Gul in front of him, the flesh maggots writhing around in his now empty skull. Clumps of half-digested flesh plopped down. The beast hit him in the face. He screamed so loudly before the insects ate his tongue and throat. He pitched over and they just kept eating him. He'd known the man for five years and he was gone that fast.

"Stand fast! Faith and Duty! The Enemies of the Imperium shall fall before us!"

And if he tried to run Commissar Atrox would shoot him, just like Sergeant Zall. It was all they could do and the sarge knew it. If they stood they would all be ripped apart and devoured. No orders would change that. But he lay face-down in the dirt a hole through his head.

Shrieks. Another wave of those obscenities came running at them. The debris field kept all of the small ones hidden from view. Maybe fifty metres out they could be seen. The only saving grace was that the leader-beasts stayed back. The noise, that horrible noise increased. It felt like all the hordes were running at him. His hands shook. Nothing would save him. He was dead. No-one would know and no-one would care.

They smashed over the wall next to him. Teeth, claws, and those hellish weapons they used.

Hensen snapped around with the last of the fire team. He blasted at them. No aim, panic fire. No-one could miss at that range. His heart thundered in his too-small chest. Razor-edge fear sliced his nerves apart and the shots flared out randomly. Each one brought down only had five jump to replace it. A black streak. A scream from beside him. A flesh-beetle had found its mark. Hensen was glad he couldn't hear the chewing.

He back-pedaled, desperate to avoid those things. Empty, change mag. More and more shots into the mass. Closer and closer they got. Pain. He collapsed. A slasher he didn't see. He lashed out. It smashed down on his hands. Blood poured out. The adrenalin block the feeling. Instinct. A knife. It lanced through the creature eye. Dead. Gun. No time. A jerk. Wetness. A glance down. His belly open. Intestines coiled out. A black worm tugged on them. Smack. Another beast. Pain. It tore through his neck. Falling. His last sight been eaten.

They all fell. Slaughtered. Dragged and torn to shreds. Few were killed instantly. The rest were devoured alive. The commissar stood defiant. Life was the Emperor's currency. He needed to buy a few more xeno lives with it yet. He slashed madly. Gun roared. Hit. Keep fighting. Slash. Hand went flying. Kick. The Emperor protects. One jumped. Headbutt. Never yield. Blood in eyes. Snap head. Elbow. Slash. Crunch. No pain. No fear. Duty to the last. Weightlessness. Impact. Get up! Salvation.

* * *

The Cult of the Unerring Blade crashed to the earth. Fury, sound. Death. They launched themselves at the beasts still pouring in. Contempt. Hatred. _Kill_. Bolt pistols roared and chain-swords screamed to life. The lines smashed together, pieces of the demented creatures being torn and flung in a dozen directions, the hormagaunts surged forward, but their claws and teeth could not breach the warrior's thick plate and they were butchered.

Without a synapse creature the attack was unorganized, clamoring over each other desperate to get at the warriors. The endless desire to eat, devour, consume all their minds to conceive. Wildly slashing at the xenos the Blade cut their numbers down. Not once did the creatures try to flee. They all died like that. Hacking mindless at their food.

More teams slammed down. These bearing heavy weapons and armour. They advanced and destroyed.

* * *

Seras set aside her past, she had to. It was time to be 'Saint Victoria' the stupid patron saint of their stupid religion again. Seras had put away all her memories. Boxed them up and taken out her armour. Power plant attached. The plaster-casts were already fastened and tied down, her personal reminder of all those lost and how.

Pain.

She grasped the cuirass, put it around her and locked it into place. Everything she tried failed, everyone was gone, she was the only one left. She picked up the cuisse and greaves.

Distance.

She slipped her legs into the armor and clamped the pieces on. She knew and raised friends only to watch them die. She couldn't do it anymore. It hurt less this way. Everyone that she was connected to had been violently taken from her. The empty place in her being where Pip had once been still mocked her.

Fury.

She gripped the spaulders, lifted them and locked them into place. Everything was gone, everything good and right had been replaced with a twisted parody. It all ended because of the traitors. They turned their backs on all that they stood for, lulled by false promises they slaughtered billions and ended hope.

She took up her gauntlets.

Hate

The one thing that had not abandoned her, was always there for her, and kept her going for twelve millenia. The Traitors had taken everything from her. Pip, Earth, all her friends, everyone she had ever cared for gone. Her arms shot into the metal. Her cage, her prison, her role, her being.

She was ready now.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I think spaulders are the correct name for the shoulder-things Sisters of Battle wear. If anyone knows otherwise, please do comment.

If anyone cares I've been recording videos for Space Marine multiplayer. Youtube account is ChrissStork, three 's's. I speak in the last three.


	18. Ceremony

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.  
Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Cily  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 8 237.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Ceremony  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 08274902136593165091.20398498-5  
*Thought For The Day: Faith is Only Found in War

* * *

Master of Sanctity Miguel Horndez watched the assembled cults make their last prayers and vows before they dropped into combat on Cily below. Under the ivory statues and venerable murals of the Saints and great heroes that came before them they grouped themselves as cults. Honour and worship was given to the men and women who now stood by the Emperor's side. Their Brothers and Sisters were already blessed with combat against the filthy xenos.

Miguel's tasks were many: ensure unity between the diverse groups, test the faith and purity of their chaplains, crush any sign of doubt or disbelief in the Imperial Cause, hunt down any trace of Undeath or Chaos in the rank, and to serve as Her will when She was needed elsewhere. With fire and lash he enforced discipline. In battle and rites he forged them to be the living weapons they were today.

Unity continued. Holy prayers and pious chants echoed in the marble halls. Prayers for wrath, for hate, to strike down all in their path. To prove themselves worthy in the eyes of the Founders and the Emperor. Every cult had its own way. As many as the people of the Imperium. In moments their obeisances would be complete. They would break into combat assignments. On Cily they would truly honour their forebears in war. Only in war could they be truly honoured. Their weapons were readied, their armour burnished, the last preparations would make their souls ready for the battle ahead.

The cults before him were well trained. Decades of merciless drills, psycho-conditioning and submergence in the Order's cults had seen to it. When that failed Miguel himself stepped in to make them what they should be. If he failed, fire always worked.

Prayers finished, chaplains blessed their weapons and their cause. Unity was complete, they broke apart and marched to combat assignments. An economy of motion prevailed. War was upon them and they were determined to prove the Emperor's faith in them.

Miguel strode on, the newly promoted captain had his own rituals to complete. From behind a warrior quick stepped to him. Her turned about and recognized Sister-Areafel of the Knighted Chalice.

"Brother-Miguel. I-I have had a vision."

* * *

Chief Techno-Arcanist Jeva walked the last rows of the mausoleums. He took the moment for reflection. His path to the mysteries of life and death had been long. Being found by the Order as a young child on a hive world whose name no longer mattered. His training in combat and the first glimpse of the cults. The discovery of his talents for machines. His service into the priesthood of Mars. Learning as they did of Machine Spirits the their absolute certainties. They had given the augments and teachings of a Techmarine they'd believed him to be. He'd left them thinking the universe a simple place that could be understood by anyone. His return to Hellsing opened his eyes. His initiation in the ranks of the Techno-Arcanist saw him take in the knowledge Mars was not ready for. The knowledge that ended the rightful rule of Humanity over the stars. In less than a day Jeva found the old way broken.

So many things revealed to him. So many contradicting wonderful things. Everything fit together and it made no sense. The clock-work universe was gone. Even now after more than five centuries of learning all he could do was bask in the mystery and glory of the Emperor's creation.

Th hallway ended. Only two had the right to be buried here. It was a large room. Two rectangles were placed near the middle. Machines and their weapons and armour were stored under the floor. Frost coated every surface. Under rime would be the stories and deeds of the two entombed. It was not the bitter cold of a cemetery, but the cold of a winter spent with family. Here two of the oldest members of the Hellsing Order rested. Waiting to be call upon.

Jeva felt light-headed as he approached the first. He had not slumbered in death as long as the other. He reached out and pushed aside the ice. Jeva read his name and the first of his deeds etched in silver, purity in physical form. Jeva's breathing slowed. Wireless transmissions from his augments triggered the waking process just below his feet. He waited for the unheard confirmation. Then he started the Ritual.

The coffin was pushed up from its resting place. Jeva chanted the rites in raising the honoured dead. Un-needed, but appropriate. He placed his hand on the gold and silver casket. Three thousand years he had slept, resting for this day. Servo-arms swung down and carefully grasped the ends of coffin. Jeva's natural arms went to the middle and he lifted it off the altar. A silent command and the armature rose from behind. Delicately he moved the Ancient into the control port and let it slide in. Clicks told Jeva the bulk of the work was over. Silence ruled for almost half-an-hour. He never moved.

"SISTER BEIA." rumbled the vox-caster encased in the mighty dreadnought.

"No. I am Brother-Jeva." Chief Techno-Arcanist Beia was now with the Emperor now. Jeva told Revered-Brother Meyxas so. Meyxas spoke not a word. He mourning for another passing he did not see. Mechnical arms ascended from the floor. Firther weaponry was fitted the the dreadnought's frame. Connections and wires cycled through. The ancient could not be inconvenienced by any mundane fault.

He spoke again.

"WHAT NEED HAS THE ORDER OF ME."

"War calls."

"WAR."

His weapons cycled and his fists clenched though the vox could not betray emotion, Jeva would swear he heard enthusiasm in the voice.

* * *

_My Emperor you are not being funny_. Michael thought. He hefted the storm-bolter and aimed at the dummy targets. He was never the best shot. Many under him would be called upon for their skills in war. He was told that it was for his mind that he was elevated to captaincy.

He barely got the needs of multiple squad command and he was placed in charge of defeating an entire hive-fleet. Tens of millions against under ten thousand of Hellsing. He was expected to win. This world was holy. The last of the vile undead had been cleansed here. No pressure.

He loaded another drum into the storm-bolter. It helped to think. A simple action to purge his mind of doubt. The doubt was stubborn. The bangs of the gun did not shatter those wretched thoughts. But it distracted him. The Emperor had appointed his Champion. It was a sign. It must be a sign. Bang-bang another target fell. How many could the Hive Mind send? The warriors of Hellsing were all resolute. No-one doubted but him. He would find a way.

Somehow.

* * *

Seras waited patiently. This silly little song-and-dance was invoked every time someone had a 'vision'. Arguing with them would just make them upset so she went along with it. All of Hellsing assembled for this bizarre ritual. Why anyone would volunteer to be a title was beyond her.

Arafeal knelt before Duran, Garibald, Miguel, Jeva and herself. She clamped the death-mask on early. If she started making faces at people no one would know. The various chaplains and other assorted personnel droned on and on about the history of the order and the great battles and things people had supposedly said. Most of it hideously wrong and Seras thought everyone had it memorized by now anyway. The meaningless ceremony ended and they were about it get on with it.

"The Mantle of the First Champion." Duran motioned the serfs forward. "Greatest of the armoury's forge. Wear it with honour. Carry it with pride", armor plates clicked together, "or be cut down for failing Him on Terra." Arafael made no acknowledgment. The serene look never changed for an instant. Duran's fist snapped forward. The massive gauntlet crashed into the kneeling woman's face. Still she gave no reaction. "Let that be the last unanswered blow."

"Opus Magnum." Jeva intoned. He hefted the sword and scabbard above his head and unsheathed the blade. Pale white it was forged in the image of arming swords of ancient Terra; the hum and spark of the standard power weapon were absent. Jeva swung the blade down to rest position. "The greatest blade ever forged. Bear it with honour. Return in glory or do not return at all." A quick motion and the scabbard and sword were locked on Arafeal's armour. Miguel stepped forward.

"The Light of Faith." He lifted the ancient iron halo aloft so all would see it. "The symbol of His Glory! The Might and Strength of Humanity! Our Resolve to never falter!" He set it on the mantle of Arafeal's armour. It shone brightly, almost painfully but no-one looked away. "The dark shall be no bar to you. The wicked and the Fallen shall see its Light and flee before you! Keep your heart pure or you shall be purified in flame." He stepped back.

Death snapped forward and drug the Champion upright.

"Rise Champion of the Emperor! And kneel before no mortal again" Death proclaimed.

* * *

Hellsing landed in force. The advance teams cleared out the xenos from the space port and secured all the routes to it. The Imperial Guard held it against one more half-hearted attempt. Word cascaded out quickly. A Marine chapter was landing. Reinforcements had arrived. The Emperor had heard their prayers. A Living-Saint was among them. Many fell to their knees in prayer. Most cried. The most despondent never looked up. Nothing could break the despair they lived in. They were corpses in all but name.

The thunderhawks landed with a massive bang. It echoed out across the plains and deep into the hive city itself. Assault ramps crashed to the ground and the warriors of Hellsing marched out.

Assembled in ten columns of one hundred each, armoured dark red and blue war plate, the demigods of war made their presence known to human and xeno alike. Banners crafted in the memory of ancient battles flew high and majestically. The inhuman precision of their marching rattled the buildings around them.

It was not for them the people cried

Two dreadnoughts advanced ahead of the infantry. Thousands of years old. Both fought and killed unimaginable things. Great banners, chronicling a small fraction of their deeds, affixed to the great war-engines frames. Alone they were the death of armies.

It was not for them the people fell to their knees.

Beyond them were thirty armored giants, each carried either a tower shield and warhammer or a matched set of lightning claws. Gods of war even among the Angel of Death, their armour was inlaid with gold. Visions of their wrath so delicately painted upon them as a too-late warning to their enemies.

It was not for them the people screamed for.

Ten warriors in front of them. Five veterans armed with cruel melee weapons and terrible guns. A giant in white armor, the badge of healing on his shoulder and the mark of death on his face. A black clad chaplain with vestments of faith and honor. A champion with ornate armor and gleaming sword. A captain tall and proud, the weight of command new to his shoulders.

It was not they the forsaken people of Cily cheered for.

A Living-Saint. His Will. His Chosen. His Gift. She was adorned in only black. Five skulls were chained to her armor. A halo of the darkest iron circled her head. A daemonhammer so massive three men could not have carried it, let alone swing it, was strapped to her back. Her red eyes could easily be seen for a hundred metres away. Uncombed blonde hair framed her young face.

She was their salvation.

She was their prayers.

She was their hope.

* * *

Seras marched in front of Hellsing. Behind her was a small sum of their total strength, but the survivors did not need to know that. Vox were silent. A parade march and nothing more. If the Tyranids were to attack the advance teams would give word. She hoped they would do so. She hated these meaningless introductions. The bowing and scrapped of people she didn't care about, the stupid 'religious' ceremonies she'd need to find an excuse to avoid. Seras didn't even want to be in the city. Another, more important one was off in the distance.

She couldn't hide, her black armour set her apart for the many in red, silver and dark blue behind her. She could hear the yelling, the tears from the few desperate people left. The last glimmer before the end. The avenging saint that would destroy the xeno.

Seras hated it.

She never wanted to be apart of there deranged cults and rituals. She wasn't some holy person to make everything right. She was herself and they would not, could not accept who she really was.

The stage where the nobles and Guard commanders knelt was coming up too fast. She kept her face still. Any twitch and there would be a million interpretations to it. She hoped some of them were intelligent and left good officers in charge of the lines while they paraded about on their self-importance. The warriors came to their appointed place and stopped. Then the two dreadnoughts. Then her Chines. The command squad stopped at five metres. Alone, Seras strode forward. The people assembled before her rose from the ground.

_Please speak High Gothic. _

"Ave Immortalis Imperator! Nos pervenerunt! Te sunt salvus!" she yelled and slammed her fist over her heart. A look of shock passed through their faces and then a stumbled response. "In Low Gothic if _you_ prefer." Mumbles, blushing, apologies. She waited for them to get on with it. The tall thin one in a commissar's uniform stepped forward. Seras zoned him out until he started naming people.

"I am Commisar Runco. This is colonel Genor of the eighty-fifth Kelni." Seras nodded at him while he knelt. "Major Canyl of the twenty-fifth Praetor, Major Drune of the hundred and sixth Vassconi and Commisar Yunti of the seventh-ninth Kreig." Each bowed in turn. Only the commissar spoke after being introduced.

"Apologies Beati, Captain Strauss is at the front-lines assessing his forces." Seras merely nodded. She wished the rest of them realized what was improtant. Commissar Ruco continued on with the names of nobles Seras couldn't be bothered to remember. The only good news was that all the ecclesiarchy had been killed earlier and no-one was left to annoy her.

"Captain Michael will command the Emperor's forces here" she ordered and turned away. A short chorus of objections. Seras spun around and they already thought better of it. "Is there a problem?", she asked, already knowing the answer. Pale faces and rapid shakes of their heads ended the protest. "Good. I will search for survivors in the outer city. Captain Micheal will give you our orders." The Chines surrounded her and Seras marched away.

* * *

Author's Notes: Any comments are most welcome.

Two things: Would anyone be interested if I wrote out a 'codex' for Hellsing? Or would it come across as pretentious?

Also I'm having a vote for the next Let's Play here: .com/watch?v=aZZJ6O3u1L0 , account ChrissStork. Two 's's. If you are interested please do vote.


	19. The Horsemen Assemble

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.  
Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Cily  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 8 237.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: The Horsemen Assemble  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 08274902136593165091.20398498-5  
*Thought For The Day: With The Emperor Anything Is Possible

* * *

Seras tromped ahead, aware that some people hadn't got the message. Mostly civilians who had nothing left. Some noble houses sent people to ingratiate themselves to her. Her Chines blocked out the most aggressive. Being dismissed was obviously a new experience for them. They'd learn.

The hab-blocks, or what was left of them, slouched into the earth. Run down to begin with, the invasion toppled the ones closest to the hive. Farther out it was just debris. Sometimes an image could still be made out. A picture of the Emperor or a Primarch, pitted with the corrosives the foundries vomitted. Here and there scorch marks from lasguns and mortars dotted the landscape. Ground had been lost and retaken dozens of times.

The smells still pervaded in these broken homes. The ash, the acid burning of fuels to power the factories, the sour smell of the flesh beetles the filthy xenos used as weapons, the smoke of the transports, the sweat, the despair and the slaughter. Maybe half of the people that had been here lived now.

Larger monuments had crumbled into the streets. Easy enough for her to ascent, Seras heard the struggling of the people behind her. A rain of stones and the cracking of broken rockcrete announced their journey to any who could hear.

Seras could feel a couple lives still out there. She would be the first to try and recover them. A building that had caved in on itself was the first that still had anyone left in it. With a gesture she sent her Chines at it. They tore through the rockcrete in an instant. Dust billowed away. They dragged out a young man in a priest's robe.

_Dammit. No ecclesiarchy around and who do I save first?_ Her Chines dropped him in front of her. They killed, never saved. Seras leaned over and tilted his head back.

"Can you stand?"

He was coughing heavily, but nodded his head. She turned back to finding people. Someone would tell him later. Then he'd be bothering her every second. The crowd was silent and advanced only when she walked away. He was swarmed and the chatter overwhelmed him.

* * *

Gregor struggled to stay upright. The darkness of his tomb, its crushing weight pushed him down. That empty realization that soon he would close his eyes forever and nothing he did would stop it. He would pray to the Emperor, but He was clearly busy. He took these moments of silence, his last, to reflect on his life. His flock, the soldiers he'd preached to. Rallying His subjects in defense of His world. The building that fell on him.

Breathing was hard. The floor on his chest wore down his strength. A noise. Digging. The foul xenos were back. He sought a weapon. He would not die without taking one of them with him. Light, his eyes forced themselves shut. His hand snapped forward to buy himself a little more time before he died. Something grabbed his shoulder and yanked him from the rubble.

He swatted aimlessly, connected with hard metal. His palm hurt. The thing vaulted a distance and dropped him. Dust in the air flooded his abused lungs. Hacking to clear his lungs he heard a voice.

"Can you stand?" Gregor looked up. His eyes desperately tried to adapt, but all he could see was a tower of black with a skull leering at him. If it was a tyranid he would be dead. He nodded. He could stand. He didn't think anything was broken. The dark figure turned away and left. The ground shook as she and the giants left. He forced his numb and sore knees to lock. He'd managed to wobble a step in the woman's direction when they mobbed him.

He almost fell. Rough and calloused hands pulled him up and tossed him around. Questions were thrown at him. Babbling and elated the crowd shoved and broke against each other. It took several minutes before the torrent calmed and he learned who had saved him.

* * *

The wrecked houses and rusted factories passed Seras by. Someone else was buried in a truck beyond what had been the industrial district. A gesture and the metal ruin was flipped. The man was unconscious, and in dire need of medical attention. She brought Azrel, one of her Chines, close to her.

"Azrel. Take him to Gideon. Be careful. Come right back." He gave no indication he understood but left quickly. The mob jumped aside to let the giant smash through. She could heal him, but it would cause no end of grief for the man throughout his life. He should make it. He was strong. The people behind her slowly slid closer.

Having them that close was not good. Some of what remained of the blocks looked about ready to fall at any moment. If one of them went she couldn't save most of them. Yelling at them to stay away wouldn't help. Most would take it as some sign of failure on their part and start hurting themselves. If they felt threatened by something else, however. She swung in the direction of the nearest xeno still laying in wait.

Burned hab-blocks and what had been someone's eatery passed by. She felt the genestealer hidden in the wreckage shift it's attention to her. She gave no indication she knew it was there. Closer and closer. She passed it. She felt it pounce before she heard it. Masonry flew out. Dust covered its path until the last moment. Four razor tipped arms lanced outward. A bulbous head riddled with scars locked onto her position. Its fanged maw opened. Seras casually swatted it aside. The creature's head pulped, it crashed into the ground.

She heard the screams and click of weapons being leveled. She ignored both. The adrenalin rush would end in a second. The faintness and weakness in their arms and legs would kept them farther back. They were almost forty metres away when hesitant steps were taken again. The crowd wouldn't follow so closely behind. And they'd keep an eye on the rubble to their sides.

* * *

Brother Martel and his squad quickly stomped to Seras's position. Doubtlessly word about the genestealer had gotten back to Michael. He wasn't sending the men to protect her but the people who followed behind her. Only the guardsmen had any chance of fighting off the xenos. The extra men might allow some of the misguided to flee. Martel saluted and assumed position to her left. Seras returned it and resumed looking for people.

Another crumbled apartment. Another life that refused to die. Seras pointed to the rubble and her Chines smashed through it in an instant. She turned away when she heard coughing. She thumped away. The child was fine. Some one would tell her who saved her. She'd have the same mindlessly adoration would surface in her eyes. Like the others she'd follow Seras for any reason she could think of.

She didn't.

"Hey! _Hey_!" The child raced up to her. Unafraid of yelling at a Living-Saint. Seras turned around. Half-amused by someone so openly willing to address her. The amusement died quickly. She looks like... No it was just a coincidence. Seras waited for the little child, who looked so much like Integra, to speak.

"I want to fight!"

"You're a child. There is nothing you can do." Red streaks in her eyes from the dust. Pain from all her loss. Dust covered the remains of her dress. Defiance.

"I DON"T CARE!" Nervous rumblings from the crowd behind them. None could fathom treating a Saint like that. Seras waited for the child to compose herself. "They killed my family. I'll kill them all." That same tone. That determination. It was unreal to see what could have been the long-dead woman in front of her.

"What is your name?"

"Dervata." Calming down. She knew the answer now.

"Very well Dervata, welcome to Hellsing."

"Beati, she is younger than normal" Martel stated.

"It is in the Emperor's hands now." That unerring got them to stop questioning. Whether they thought it was true or they realized that she wasn't going to argue with them was fine with her. "Detach someone to give her to Miguel, and-" A breeze. Dervata had her wish. "No, find a guardsman willing to give her a weapon." Her Chines readied their weapons, power flared across claw and hammer. "Tell them I said so." Dervata would never survive this. Seras unhooked the Eternus Odium. None of the people who followed along would.

"Beati! Message from Command! Inbound Tyranid wave!"

"Send me the battle plan." She turned to the crowd. "They are coming. Prepare yourselves."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Now that War, Conquest, Annihilation and Death are reunited, they can go about ending the universe. Feel free to guess who's who.


	20. Wave

Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000 and all other associated copyrights owned by Games Workshop.  
Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano.  
Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.

* * *

*Transmitted: Cily  
*Destination: Holy Terra  
*Date: 8 237.M44  
*Telepathic Duct: CLASSIFIED  
*Author: Chris Stork  
*Title: Wave  
*Clearance: Vermilion  
*Path: 08274902136593165091.20398498-5  
*Thought For The Day: A Good Officer Commands Without Doubt

* * *

Yunti stormed into the Death Korps command tent. Strauss was bent over the map. He liked doing this. Meeting? Poking the map. Nobles demanding to know what the Guard is doing? Map. Civilians just about rioting? Map. Fleet burning? Map.

But this was the last straw. The Emperor sends the Saint of War to their aid and he stays in the command tent playing with deployments! It was an effort to not shoot the man.

"Damn you! Do you know what it feels like to tell a Living-Saint that the commander can't be bothered to see Her?

"She is the Saint of War. She wants us to fight, not to parade."

"That's not what I saw! She listened with rapt attention to all the ceremony, all the hymns and everything that was done!"

Strauss was about to respond.

A siren.

"They are coming."

* * *

Commissar Runco felt relieved for the first time in weeks. Though having reinforcements in was a blessing from the God-Emperor Himself, it was the endless bickering from the officers that really set him on edge.

Who was to be in charge? After the disaster at Huin there hadn't been much of an officer core left. Or anyone else for that matter. Anyone with combat experience were so far down the chain of command that the idea of any of them in overall command was patently ridiculous. Those that, by the right of rank, should be in line had never been in charge of anything except a desk.

Runco almost pitied Genor. The man was so far removed from anything that resembled authority and yet was the highest ranking and longest serving officer left alive. No one, not even Genor, thought it would be a good idea to allow him over all command. Yet the small man had to insist, otherwise it was a court marital for cowardice.

Drune would have them march out and assault the Tyranids directly. He had no perception, or desire to gain any, about combined warfare. The thick, heavy-set man loved loud, flashy things. Sublety, and precision were not words that the tank commander knew. Drune was too used to others managed such things. Lack of numbers and defensive fortifications would merely end the last resistance on Cily in an hour.

Bland Canyl had neither the drive not personality to win. Completely unimaginative, they'd lose slowly. Nothing about him showed even the least amount of original thought. There were time Runco couldn't remember what the man looked liked even while looking at him. His shortfalls in the past were always countered by more dynamic officers. If it wasn't in the tacticas Canyl wouldn't even consider looking for it. If Runco gave him command there'd be riots in a week.

The Captain of the Death Korps was hated by pretty much everyone. A fact he was aware of and actively encouraged. Strauss made no attempt to be conciliatory. What he deemed weakness he'd crush. He'd send them all out to die for glory.

When Beati simply told him that an Astartes captain was in charge in felt like a box of paperwork had fallen off his shoulders. After that She left to search for any survivors. Captain Michael advanced and call out his orders. There was a certain relief from most of the officers. Whom ever was in charge would merely decide when they would die.

But that was over and the old problem of the nobles would be ended soon. His ruminations were cut short by the wail of the warning systems.

* * *

Drune seethed. He knew challenging Beati was a bad idea but it didn't help his mood. Only he had put forth a plan to win. Everyone else had plans to prolong death. Before the Emperor he would never give up or even slow while he still lived. He recited litanies, old psalms and even victories. It kept him from exploding. He forced himself to think of other matters.

"Prepare readiness drills" he commanded his lieutenant. Maybe he could impress this Astartes captain with his regiment's skill.

He'd have his chance. The sirens heralded their doom.

* * *

Major Canyl was not shocked. He never really registered emotions in general. Things happened, deal with them and keep moving. He wasn't going to be in overall command? Pity, move along. Michael gathered information from each officer present. Canyl answered in exacting detail. It was his way. The captain did not ask for a short version, he seemed to absorb every iota of disposition and capability as Canyl talked. He was not even surprised when the alarms sounded.

* * *

Off to the back Genor stood. His regiment existed only on paper. By cruel fate he was the highest ranking Guard officer on Cily. And he could bring nothing to it's defense. He was an adviser, not a commander, not someone to depend on. Not a man who could save them. Now he wouldn't really have to.

By rank he should be in charge. It was a statement that only caused more grief for Runco. None could truly deny it. None could accept it. But with the Saint's arrival it didn't matter. He could assist, maybe the only thing he could do, but for the Imperium, anything.

Then the klaxons blared.

* * *

Michael spun about.

"Map", he spoke into his logic engine. Immediately his HUD overlayed the street plans. "Companies one through four advance sweep pattern along line twenty-three fifty to twenty-three thirty-five. Companies five, six setup two hundred metres behind. Seven and eight directly behind front line prepare to advance quickly. Nine mount up. Ten sight synapse creatures and paint for air units. Mechanized, speeders airborne and wait for targets. Tanks stage and stagger at front."

He clicked off vox four a moment. "Commissar, mobilize and send me deployments and capabilities for the Guard forces." He pointed to a Techno-Arcanist, "Get him my vox channel." He snapped back to Hellsing. "Location of the Saint?" A silence. "Twenty-seven forty-six" Michael heard Her reply. He went back to the map. Her locate was not defensible. Too open.

He'd find a way. Some how.

* * *

"Brother Duran multiple contacts inbound."

"Display up! Alert the fleet!"

"Three hundred thousand confirmed! Six hundred thousand possible!"

"Load all tubes and power lances! Set nano-constructors to thirty percent! Prepare to latch fighters and bombers!" Klaxons roared to life, emergency lighting took over. Instructions recited over the tannoy system. Armories unlocked and weapons automatically readied for use. The logic engines of the Hellsing fleet rearranged the internal structure of the ships to protect vital systems and to make a maze of the perimeter.

In the distance the Tyranids came to devour them all.

* * *

Her Chines smashed wreckage aside and flattened what they could. It would funnel the leading beasts directly at them. They'd have no problems, but the Guard and everyone else behind her would die sooner or later. She clamped her helmet on. The Tyranids would smash everything in their path. What barriers they put up would fall, eventually. Seras ran through the shifting battle-plans, advancing troops. No-one had the ability to scurry the unarmed people back and hold the line.

Seras turned back the crowd that followed her. The people that would die for following her. Nothing she could say would change that. There were far to many 'nids incoming. She and her Chines could only keep them safe for so long. They would expect her to say something. Before they all died. She had nothing to comfort them She didn't try.

"You will all die here. The Xenos have taken everything you have ever had. Do not think to live. Think about all you have lost, all that has been taken from you. Think of hate. Kill them and do not stop killing. Hate is something they can't take from you."

Nothing more could be said. She wasn't good at speeches. The poor soldiers looked grim. Maybe they'd make their peace before the end. A few murmurs of ascent. They loaded weapons and prayed to her. To their pretend savior. Seras turned and waited for the xeno's charge. It was not long.

The foul horrors raced along the ground, hunger crippled any thought of self-preservation. Gun fire and grenades smashed the first. There were more. There would always be more. Seras made her Chines stay. She would protect the people behind her for as long as she could. Hormaguants jumped at her. She swung effortlessly, they exploded in a cloud of gore. Another wave of guants, another swing. Pieces and ichor. Another slam into the xenos. _Hate hate hate_. Ozone and light. Cooked horrors. Another maw, smash. Shots. bodies disintegrate. Warrior-beast. Swing, crunch. Screams, too late to help. Swing, crunch. Gun. Another beast down. A shudder through the lesser creatures.

The guard died bravely. A flesh beetle smacked into a trooper's throat. He died choking on viscera. A slasher disemboweled a sergeant and pulled his guts out. Dervata took a snap shot that saved a mans life only to watch him be pulled under and devoured. She fired into the horde, a beast fell and was instantly replaced. Beside her a man died. His skull exploded as something ripped out. Reload. One lunged for her. Stagger. She kicked out and crushed its throat. She dropped to a knee and shot at the closest ones. The brief moment allowed the guard to rally and cut down dozens of the xenos. Bone and ichor flew, grains of sand against a tidal-wave. For every hole gouged into the mass it was filled in a blink. The honor guard were not equipped to fight.

Another man was drug under, he screamed as chunks of flesh were torn off by worms. None could grant him mercy, their own deaths were seconds away. Dervata shot two off before a skelton was all that remained. Click, reload. To late. A hormaguant jumped for her. Without thought she charged forward and got under it. It's claws to large to effectively use that close the xeno slammed into her shoulder. She bashed it into the ground and pinned it's talons under her legs. Consumed by wrath, she beat the things head with her gun while it tried to chew on the side of her leg. Furiously she jammed the barrel straight through it's eye and into the brain. The creature squealed and died. She kicked the corpse aside and hunted for more to kill. Part of a soldier lie nearby. She took his rifle and knife. More xenos.

The recoil was worse than the pistol. Barely holding the gun, firing almost put her on the ground. It still killed. She didn't look around. Her hate burned all fear, all doubt away. Every pull of the trigger made her hate scream out and pulverize another horror.

There was no end to them. There was no end to Dervata's hate.

* * *

Hellsing broke into a run immediately. Warriors placing themselves into their platoons and squads with inhuman efficiency. The dreadnoughts thundered ahead, orders clicking through the vox-channels. Land Speeders rose in the sky and engaged complex auspex scans. Mobile artillery loaded batteries and pre-sighted coordinates. The swarm flooded the land. They had minutes at best.

Positions were made. Debris knocked down and thrown into make-shift barricades. Efficiency came first. Good would follow if the time was provided. Heavy weapons set. Lanes of fire sighted. The order was given. Open fire.

Frag rockets screamed into the distant mass. Tiny puffs of black dust marked their kills. The rising cry of hundreds of thousands of killing beasts ripped into the air. Man-portable artillery fired. Lances of pale blue fire that detonated in terrible fury. Lascannons hunted for prey. They were too valuable to be wasted on such pathetic foes. Heavy bolters sang out a chorus to the Immortal Emperor. Dozens of xenos torn to chunks.

Behind the front lines Whirlwinds scanned the auspex data. Targeting avenues of attack to stymie the Tyranids advance. Strike teams mounted up. Cruel weapons loaded. Melee swords and hammers armed and blessed. Assault teams prayed and received sermons from the chaplains. Their being a weapon honed to kill. This the time to prove before Him that they were truly faithful.

Michael marched well behind the front-lines. The surge in his blood told him that he should be there and not hiding. The rank markings on his helmet commanded him to stand his ground. A billion plans formed. Ten billion crumbled under the weight of reality. To little known. So many. _Do we even have the ammunition to kill them all?_

He thought of all that could go wrong. He couldm't leave it up to faith. Too much depended on him and him alone. If he had a century he might come up with a battle plan. Not even ten minutes before the first wave crashed into the lines he so haphazardly slapped up.

He had to find something.

Some how.

* * *

Strauss quick-stepped the way to his command tank. Forged on Kreig during the civil war, the ancient Malacador super heavy was the last of it's kind on Cily. It was not without damage. The engines always had problems turning over. The turret had taken a venom cannon hit and didn't turn as fast now. In more than a few places the armour was dented and the paint was mostly dissolved. It served all the Korps needs.

It had gotten it name on Krieg, in it's first battle. The forge had come under attack and the tank was sent out. Just finished, unpainted with only a serial number to identify it. The tank won its first scars, its first kills in that battle. When it returned home a tech-priest over saw the repairs and noted a pattern of hits on the front armour. 'Hate'. The name could be only one thing.

The Greatest Virtue.

Strauss took it as an omen. The Saint of Hatred herself was here. Nothing else but the Korps best would do for Her. He took the vox and command holo. The other regiments struggled to march. The lighter companies were already on route, Runco's collection was almost there. None of the scout groups had heavy weapons. None would matter in a pitched battle. Before the eyes of the Saint of War and the God-Emperor Himself he would prove how far from their ancestors sins they had come.

"Report readiness. The Death Korps awaits His Will."

* * *

Alarms blasted throughout the fleet, stormtroopers and augmented warriors raced to the armouries. Plans recalled and chanted over the vox. Prayers made to Him on Terra. The clang on boots on metal. Cases snapped open. Weapons and armour taken. Duran watched the blips on his HUD move. Contact in thirty. Fighters and bombers launched.

Torpedoes en route. The batteries would unleash humanities wrath on the Tyranids soon.

A shudder, that moment had come.

* * *

Michael sorted the reports coming in. the numbers, disposition of his forces, times of engagement; he raced to forge a battle plan from the cacophony. He didn't believe he would be successful. The Saint was too far from a defensible location. He'd have to make it untenable for the Tyranids to attack.

But how?

_Can't reinforce without extending the lines. Too many for air units to engage. To few buildings left to channel them._The only thing he thought of was to stop them from attacking Her to begin with. Incendiaries directly in front of Her position and heavy assaults to sweep south to north. So much could go wrong. He had no time to find a better plan.

"Whirlwinds, target twenty-eight forty-nine with purification shells, fifty percent north-south spread. Company six ascend southern mountains and await orders." Reserves would be thin behind the Saint. He hoped this was merely a test and not a heavy assault. If not, there wouldn't be time for anything else. Michael snapped around to Miguel.

"Brother-Miguel I need you to lead a flank assault at twenty three forty seven to link up with the Saint."

"At once." The black-armoured chaplain slammed off to lead the charge. The Emperor's Champion awaited use. Until the main thrust presented itself Michael would wait. He marched towards the front lines, the rest of his command squad followed behind. Ready for their orders. Orders he still wasn't sure of.

Whirlwinds fired. A flash and scream of burning fuel. The sounds of battle increased. Contact with the forward elements immediate. There was no more time. He felt sick.

"Company six, now."

* * *

Josiah and his team slammed down. Chunks of termagant flew up. A swung and more bits followed. Flesh-beetles and electric worms pattered of his armour. His fellow warriors concentrated on the frailer creatures, he sought bigger game. The synapse beasts hugged the ground to avoid being picked off. They would strike when something got close enough. All Josiah needed to do was watch for large gaps between xenos. Something chewed on his vambraces, a snap took it off.  
The smaller beasts traveled in packs. They were smart but weak. Not from the front would their counter-attack come. Josiah fired into the space to his right. A squeal confirmed the assault. His quarry sighted he turned to slaughter. A quick word over vox and their wrath descended.

A limb flew by, ichor streaked the air. A lucky thrust caught Josiah's elbow and he dropped his chainsword. No time. He emptied his magazine. Punch, his foot kicked his fallen weapon. His arm was useless. Another beast died. The swarm was lost. He hooked the guard and kicked up. Quickly he holstered the gun and grasped the chainblade. A wild swing forced the xenos back. All around them more Tyranids surged to devour the Angels of Death.

The closest warrior beasts dead others moved to fill the gap. A shriek. Fire. Everything east of their position was engulfed in pure flames. The creatures trapped between the assaults and tactical teams screamed onward. Hunger all they knew.

The south front a lost cause, the Hive Mind sent its strength to the north.

* * *

Tiny beasts ran forward. Dieing in vast numbers. Replenished before they fell. The earth exploded, raining dirt and rocks. The firepower of a thousand warriors of the Emperor punished the xenos. The chaff ran first, emptying the stocks of the Imperium. Behind them Tyranid warriors and Hive Tryants slithered under the weight of the lesser beasts. Canifex stomped forward, screened by all those before them, waiting to charge.

Heavy weapons aimed. Horumaguants tensed. Once fired the beasts jumped and slammed into the rocket. Killing many and leaving the line breakers intact. The wave raced faster. Blood in the air. The Hive Mind watched coldly. Thousands of it's own swarms would be slaughtered. A price it had already decided to pay. Relentlessly the xenos advanced. Close enough for return fire. Worms and beetles pinged off rockcrete and armour. Slime plastered the ruined houses. Fire redoubled. Tyranids bursts under the maelstrom. Synapse beasts vomited out their payloads. Barbed vines erupted through the walls. They seized armor and crushed. Team mates scrambled to free their comrades. It slowed the vanguard to close rapidly.

Tactical squad jumped forward, bolters and flamers ready. Gouts of blue-hot fire incinerated the running horrors. Bolt shells broke their bodies. There was always more. Half of the clawed xenos launched themselves skyward. All shrieked forward. The Hive Mind loused them, they had no more need for direction. The wave crashed on the defenders. Knives pulled, fists cracked carapace shell. Talons squealed on armour. Teeth bit. Blood flew. The melee careened on. Many hormaguants died. They found few holes in the augmented warriors armour. Few were pulled under. Strike teams counterattacked. Razorbacks smashed in heavy bolters clearing the way. Chainswords revved and sliced through the beasts. Xenos exploded. Gore chocked visors. War cries and screaming filed the air. The line held.

In the distance, carnifex began their lumbering assault on humanity.

Cassius was hard pressed. The skittering nightmares were no problem, but now their larger brethren joined them. Two of his plasma canons fired and more xenos were reduced to vapor. The holes in the wave filed instantly. The heavy bolters never ceased firing. No lack of targets. Cassius scanned behind the front line. Taller more powerful beasts ran in. This was the point the Tyranids would try to break the lines.

"Command, four four. Point here."

* * *

Brother Meyxas charged forward. His brothers and sisters already engaged he had no time to spare. Tactical manuals and biological texts were brought up on need. In depth preparation could wait. The short form was 'shoot the big ones'. Finding the big ones was the problem. Tacticas were written by non-dreadnoughts. Big was a matter of perspective. He triggered his heavy flamers and incinerated the rampaging xenos. The line teams cut down the ones he missed. Sensors felt for changes in the swarms behavior.

_These must be big ones_ he thought. As he flames his fists into the larger than man sized creatures. A brief shiver among the screeching horrors. Confident in his plans he set his mechanical eyes and ears to seek any like that. Futily the beasts, he thought they were called hormagants, climbed on him and impotently bit and slashed his armour. He ignored them. Chaff undeserving of a warrior's notice. The earth shook. A roar. The swarm split and a towing beasts lumbered forth. _No, that must be a big one._Power redirected to leg motors, Meyxas crashed forward. A few glimpses at reports for this 'carnifex' before the giants clashed. Nothing he couldn't already guess. He fired one last time to clear interlopers away. And they smashed together. Claw tore through armour and shredded actuators and fluid lines. His left arm robbed of power inflicted no damage. His right cracked it's carapace. Not shaped for penetration, it ground on the armor. The dreadnought's hydraulic pistons jumped backwards and slammed forward as fast. The metal sarcophagus crunched the carnifex's skull. The lumbering xeno to jump back screaming. Meyxas spun around, his working fist slammed into the xeno, toppling it to the ground. The beast crushed gaunts under its bulk. The dreadnought never let it climb to its feet. Smashing it into the earth.

More soldiers arrived. The Death Korps counter charged. Following the breach. Firing into the screaming mass, chunks of flesh scattered in the air. They were not alone in the assault. The Emperor's Champion scythed through the chittering beasts. The Mangus Opum more than a match for the feeble xenos. More crashed into her. All fell. The warrior creatures lunged. One lost it's head and the other it's body. They backed off, assessing this new threat. Poison grubs and slithering worm pattered off the armour. Each died when they closed. The Hive Mind noted the Champion's presence and watched.

* * *

The Death Korps advanced. Bayonets fixed, heads down at charge speed. The position was far and over run. It was not the first time. Rifles at the shoulder, eyes down the sight. Firing on target. A poison spike crushed the throat of a soldier. No reaction, no human weakness, only the charge.

Screeching intensified, termaguants launched their silvers of bone, flesh-eating worms and ravenous beetles to kill maim and devour. A dozen troopers fell, no one cared. Xenos exploded and burned, more came. Chunks of flesh and clouds of blood filed the air. No mercy. A high-pitched shriek. Barrage incoming. The earth ripped up, beasts tried to right themselves. Fire, fire, fire. Rippers flooded the ground. Stab with bayonets. Feet shredded, men and women pulled under, screams of pain and hate. A flamer, everything burned.

Grenadires ordered to advance. The pins broken, a quick throw. Weaker beasts dove on the bombs to protect their stronger kin. It accomplished their mission. The assault fragmented, the buffer separating warrior from chaff thinned. A stormtrooper was hit with a tangle vine. It consumed him instantly. Bones crunched, skin ruptured, blood poured out, organs pupled and squeezed out. His comrade ignored the dying man. A shot to end the torment was a waste.

Bayonets fixed and guns firing the Korps slammed into teeth and claws. Flesh split open, hunks of foul meat splattered the air. Writhing flesh worms tore off a man's foot. He pulled the pin and took many in death. Blood flowed, screamed echoed in the ruins. No mercy. No hesitation. A warrior beast devoured a stormtrooper's head. It was set upon by hell-gun and chainsword. It crushed another three before it died. A shell crashed down. Everything smashed. The xenos struggled without direction. The scions of Kreig snapped up and killed and burned. Still the tide came.

* * *

Thedous scanned the holo-crypt. A cloud of bioships inbound. It was a screen for the surface assault. Without this attack orbital bombardment would reduce the swarms to vapor. Break this and the ground assault fades. Fighters were out bound, bombers chugging behind. Faster runes indicated ordinance the flyers threw at the other. Point defenses cut down what little remained on target to the Imperial fleets. The xenos never cared about their own losses. Ships plowed forward, screening the larger synapse nodes from attack. Utterly disposable their only purpose was to die. This was not an attack, merely a test. The Hive Mind was evaluating the newcomers, nothing more.

Thedous watched their movements. Each ship needed a link to the gestalt consciousness of the Tyranids, a perfect sphere around each synapse link would make it too obvious as to it's location. Instead a trap would be placed there. If the links were slightly off-center...

A group of escorts on the relative starboard side were not matching speed with the fleet.

"Vanguard group, new orders: head for the center of the fleet, once there engage primary battle ships and disengage and assault targets 113.825 and attendant escorts."

Confirmation received, the fighters and missile corvettes broke off. Fire readjusted to draw off counter-attack. Outer elements of the Tyranid fleet opened fire on the Imperials. A tiny shake on the holo-display. Point defenses opened up. Boarding ships locked on targets and screamed in. The Hive Mind no longer needed to instruct them.

New, sharper alarms blared. Defenses hadn't dissuaded all of them.

"Send the word", Thedous calmly stated, "Repel boarders"

* * *

Armour was fastened. Lines of soldiers ran to the gun racks. With a click every man and woman took a weapon. Duran sent assignments, battle plans and backup lines. Logistic trains set up and reinforced.

Five minutes.

More point defenses opened up. The last chance to cut down their numbers. Augmented warriors took point.

Two minutes.

The bio-ships vomited spore mines out to catch incoming fire. Chunks were hewn out of the vulgar creatures.

One minute.

Combat servators matched to the fore. Their crimes against Hellsing and the Emperor would be atoned for.

Thirty seconds.

Mycetic pods, filled with the vanguard, spewed from the glutinous horrors.

Ten seconds seconds.

Impact. Acid dissovled the outer hull instantly. Genestealers ripped through the metallic slush and eviscerated the slow cyborgs. Return fire. Chunks of foul meat splattered the corridor.

Five.

The vanguard staggered through and disemboweled several warriors. The screams of chainswords files the air. Turrets opened fire.

The main force hit.

Instantly the bulkheads disintegrated. A wave of shrill horrors threw themselves at their prey. Heavy bolters leveled the xenos. Still they came. No single organism could be discerned from the swarm. Worms, maggots and beetles hammered the power armor of Hellsing. Biting, chewing their way to flesh. All weapons smashed and battered the Tyranids. For an eternal moment they hung a meter from the line. Then something from behind shoved them.

Claws and teeth smashed into the line. Metal screamed and knives were drawn. Chainswords ripped through carapace and thunder hammers atomized the beasts. Fists crunched bones, blood, human and alien splattered the walls. The maelstrom of battle routed open the bulkheads, smashed open flesh and raged down the corridors. Stormtroopers fired, chunks of burning flesh littered the air. More creatures vomited from the foul carrier ships.

Duran kept the battle-extend in one eye and the xenos in the other. A swing and more slasher beasts fell, smoking on the floor. Their lines were slowly being pushed back. Turrets had cycled through half their ammunition Wounded were drug behind the lines and sent to the apothecary. Though the numbers of the swarm thinned there was always more. Gashes in armour deepened, knives and chainswords dulled. The second line was reached.

Howling, the creatures surged forward. Whatever synpase links existed they were too far away to stop or direct the charge. Hell-guns opened fire. Shotguns blasted micro-sharpnel into the shrieking mass. Suddenly the bulkheads slammed shut. Pressure intensified and the Tyranids burst into clouds of gore. The larger beasts futility ripped at the steel doors. Bones cracked, veins burst, fissures tore open into the chitin as organs seeped out.

Without warning the pressure snapped to normal and the bulkheads slammed open. Broken bodies jumped to attack. Brutal fire and melee smashed them down. Thunder hammer and lighting claw shredded and crushed the last of the xenos.

Attack repealed.

* * *

As one the Tyranids surged back like the tide changed. No panicked retreat or piecemeal fallback, the xeno flood reversed back to the plains. Artillery fire punished them all the way until their range was too far. The day was won.

Michael remained paranoid, the Hive Mind could have pushed further. The ships would only bombard friendly units. Something more happened. Reports streamed in. victory in space. The xenos repealed completely. He scanned for bio-ships that might have launched mycetic spores. Nothing close enough. Perhaps it was merely a test, just to see what the new arrivals were capable of. A chance to keep morale low. That was it. Nothing else made sense. The further he searched the less he found. He looked in vain.

Michael turned. To address the Guard and his warriors. A job well done.

The times.

The land assault broke off three seconds before the fleet drove off the 'diversion'. He was right. It really wasn't an attack. It was a cover operation.

"All units form up kill teams. We have infiltrators."

* * *

Author's Notes:

I am terribly sorry for how long this took. The next chapter should not be as long.


End file.
